A Journey of Discovery
by sweetrupturedlight
Summary: ASHEBONES: Abigail Ashe has lost her home, her family and her sense of belonging. Life in London has brought nothing but the realisation that her experiences with the pirates of Nassau has left her forever changed. In order to move forward, she must journey back. [Billy x Abigail]
1. I

"Are you sure about this Abigail? I keep thinking that it's not suitable for a young woman… Lord knows it's not safe! Your father would-"

"My father is no longer on with us," Abigail responded with regret, placing a few leather bound journals into a large trunk. She fingered the gold lettering on one of his favourite books and whispered, "God rest his soul."

"He wouldn't approve."

Abigail turned to her dear friend and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. The older woman looked worried, her eyes clouded with acute anxiety. "It's alright, Milly. Everything is going to be alright."

Abigail smiled, trying to allay the fears of her oldest companion. She hoped she succeeded; perhaps she did, because Milly turned away and resumed her packing. Abigail bit her lip and returned to her own task. It was too late to change her mind now. Truth be told, it _wasn't_ too late to halt any of the plans she'd made because they hadn't _actually_ set sail yet. But the preparations were complete and she had made up her mind. She was going back to Nassau. And no one was going to stop her.

* * *

Perhaps this had been unwise. _Foolish_. The worst idea that had ever been enacted by man – or a woman, as was the present case. Abigail tried not to cringe under the inscrutable gaze of a pirate king. Not for the first time did she question her sanity in undertaking her current course. But it was too late now for regrets and recriminations. She squared her shoulders with more courage than she felt by half, and stared him in the eye. He did not flinch, but she saw a nerve tick in his jaw. His hands had also balled into fists. She quaked at that, a shiver of apprehension whispering along her spine. _What had she been thinking?_ Beside her, Milly reached for her hand and Abigail was immensely grateful and irritated in equal parts. The action would be seen as a weakness. But she could not bring herself to spurn the comforting clasp. She squeezed Milly's hand before gently letting it go.

"You realise, Miss Ashe," she swallowed at the emphasis on the word _realise_ , the intimation being that she must be some simpleton that had not considered the facts before her, "that you've sailed yourself into the middle of fucking a war."

Abigail tightened her lips, proud that she hadn't cringed at the diction or tone. She had _not_ known that then, but it was apparent now. "It makes no difference. I am here. And I mean to stay."

He released a collective of expletives - quite extraordinary – while Milly gasped beside her. "Mister McGraw," Abigail began and saw his eyes flash before she tried again, "Captain Flint, I appreciate that there are dangers here. Common sense has not left me."

"So if I am to understand you correctly," he said, his teeth gritted. "You sailed from London, _purposefully_ chartering a merchant ship to bring you to Nassau."

"Yes."

"With the intention of _starting a life_ here?" he said with so much incredulity, she almost smiled.

"Well, not _starting_ a life exactly. I suspect that might be a slight overstatement."

"Indeed."

"But my aim was to visit Nassau." Abigail took a step forward, away from Milly. She needed him to see she was not afraid. "As it was to find you."

Staring at the fierce pirate, she observed the lines which ran across his withered face. James McGraw had once been a handsome man, but all trace of that softness was now gone. He was vital and powerful, a keg of powder ready to explode. She could feel the power radiate off him in waves, even as he stood clear across the room from her.

"I am sorry, for the loss of Mrs. Barlow. She was kind to me." Again, she saw his fists clench and wished she had the courage to place a comforting hand to his. She couldn't imagine he would even accept such a gesture. "I know you killed my father. And I know why you did it." Her throat closed but she breathed through it, never breaking contact with his gaze. Milly would no doubt be scandelised at her boldness – _she_ would be scandelised when she reflected upon this conversation later - but the time for false modesty was long gone. Abigail Ashe, the sheltered debutant, the _girl_ who had been kidnaped by Ned Lowe was now a very different _woman_. Somehow, the civility demanded by English society made little sense when she had seen and experienced so much.

Tentatively, Abigail pushed forward and sat in the chair beside his desk. The Captain raised a ginger brow and she ran her palms down the front of her dress, trying to dry the moisture there. She sat serenely, years of practice at the air of indifference finally paying its dues. Reluctantly, he sat down and waited.

Abigail licked her lips, suddenly overcome with memories. It felt like so long ago, and yet it had all happened mere months past.

"The night…" she reconsidered, "No, the day after Colonel Rhett… killed Mrs. Barlow, my father had me sent to Savannah. I believe he did not want me to bear witness to what was to come. But I sensed the truth; I could see it in his eyes. What you had suspected of him, what Mrs. Barlow had accused him of, it was true. All of it. And despite my protestations, despite my testimony of my fair treatment and my observations of your person and that of your crew, I am ashamed to say that I knew he would have you killed. He did not care that I knew it of him. _A necessary evil, a wrong now righted_ , he had said." Abigail was lost in the memory of their final moments together. "How is it possible, Captain, to love someone your entire life, to look to them for protection and guidance, and be so wrong about them?" He did not answer. She did not expect him to.

"I had not gotten far before word reached me of your escape from Charlestown, and the fact that the city had been laid low, burned to the ground in the wake of your departure. I knew then. I knew that my father was dead."

"You blame me, I suppose. Another bad deed added to the endless list of my grievous sins."

"No," she said simply, unaware of how unexpected the admission was to him, how sincere, how touching. "There is no point, Captain. My father would have had you killed if you had not killed him. Who I am to judge who is the better man or who deserved the gift of life? Some may argue you are a murderous pirate, others could make a case that his actions set you on your present course."

He frowned. "That is quite a pragmatic view of the world, Abigail."

"It seems I've become a realist." Her smile was tenuous. Sad.

His demeanor softened and she was reminded of the man who had sat opposite from her in the candlelit bowels of his ship, much like he was doing now, telling her stories of the crew, of his life, a man who had even smiled then, with Mrs. Barlow at his side. He did not smile now.

"You do not belong here."

"I do not belong in Charlestown. Or Savannah. Or even London. I have visited those places these past months, hoping to find the thing that eludes me."

"And what is that?"

"A place to call home."

"Nassau is not home."

"Perhaps not. But it's the only place that feels… like perhaps I might be able to breathe here." She sat forward, in earnest. "I am whispered about, everywhere I go. To my face my father's friends, peers he considered like family, commiserate and offer their support for my wellbeing. And yet it is all false prose. They whisper of just how compromised I likely am due to spending months with wretched pirates." She shrugged at the term, hoping he knew she was paraphrasing. He seemed not to care. "I have no home, I have no family left who would have me and not be humiliated by what happened to me. I find myself making elaborate apologies and having to explain myself to an audience who has no inclination towards the truth and who has damned me to ruination."

Her words were resigned. "I have no home, Captain. And this place is now as close to me as any other. At least here there is some familiarity."

His lips curled slightly. Barely. But her heart rose. "With wretched pirates?"

Abigail smiled then. "The very same."

He shrugged, impressed with her tenacity, despite himself.

"Let me be clear Captain, I aim to stay in Nassau. How long, I know not, nor whether I will find what I seek here. But I will not be persuaded otherwise. Not by you, or by any other."

The Captain let out a sigh that reverberated around the room. "Pray tell Abigail, what do you seek and hope to find in this God forsaken place?"

Her answer astounded him.

"Forgiveness."

* * *

The idea of sailing for Nassau had come to her after another humiliating afternoon among those who would call themselves her friends. Excusing herself for a moment, Abigail returned to hear her friends whispering about her. _Had those wretched pirates touched her?_ they wondered. _Had she allowed it?_ Abigail's cheeks burned with mortification. For months, she had tried her best to put what had happened behind her. It mattered not that she wondered what had happened to Captain Flint, it mattered not that she dreamt still of the night Mrs. Barlow had been murdered in her family home, it mattered not that she sometimes wondered whether the guilt she felt would ever abate. The realisation that she would never be accepted here - that perhaps she had always been too different, too plain, too bookish and boring – hit her like a fierce wave to the helm of a ship in the midst of a storm. These people judged her, laughed at her, derived amusement from her trauma, without any consideration for what she had endured.

Of course the news of her journal - her _defense_ of pirates – had spread throughout London society in what felt like the blink of an eye. Initially it had seemed like people were genuinely interested in her experiences. It became all too apparent that all they wanted was to fuel the gossip about her person, about her father, and in doing so, somehow make their own dreary lives more exciting.

She knew then that London, like the Americas would never be a home for her. In order to move forward, she needed to revisit her past. The thought was terrifying, and yet in the weeks that followed, nothing else seemed to make sense. She would return to New Providence Island, she would seek out Captain Flint, and she would try to understand why God had brought him into her life.

Convincing Milly had been near impossible. Her companion, her governess since childhood, she was like an older sister, sometimes a mother. She would no sooner Abigail journey to the Bahamas alone. And so she agreed to accompany her, even though it had been the very last thing she'd wanted for either of them.

"This is not your odyssey," she had said. "Milly, I do not expect you to set sail for Nassau."

"I would never forgive myself if I let you off on your own. God knows what could happen to you! If you are determined to be foolish, then I must accompany you, no matter what we encounter." But still, her friend did not understand. "Why Abigail?" Milly asked, unable to make sense of why she needed to revisit this place and these people.

"Because I don't belong here anymore."

"And you think you will there? Abigail, you have nothing in common with pirates!"

Abigail refrained from answering. They had had this argument before. She would not be dissuaded.

* * *

Walking onto the deck of the Walrus, the sunshine blinded her momentarily. It had been dim and cool inside the Captain's quarters. Outside, the smells and sounds fairly assaulted the senses. Abigail stopped abruptly when she noticed a giant stalking towards her.

How was it possible that she had forgotten how incredibly tall he was? She blushed; sure her improper thoughts were emblazoned across her face. _Billy_. His name was Billy. She had wondered about him, wondered whether he had survived Charlestown and yet remained within the Captain's service.

"Miss Ashe." He looked solid, sun kissed and _safe_. The thought came unbidden to her and she bit her lip, looking away. The action might have been interpreted as a slight, perhaps this was the reason he stiffened and stepped back.

"Mister…" Did she address him as Billy? They had not been properly introduced and it somehow felt too intimate. Again, she felt her face flush and cursed inwardly. She had sailed to this place, into the face of danger and a young man, a handsome, _giant_ of a man, would not be her undoing.

"Billy. Its just Billy."

Milly stepped forward, casting a disapproving glance in Billy's direction. "The Captain advised that you would be escorting Miss Ashe and I to the island. _Safely_." She emphasised the word _Miss_ and Abigail frowned.

His expression seemed to pray for patience. "So I've come to understand."

She felt his eyes flicker to her with curiosity but she could not yet control the heat on her face. She couldn't look at him.

"You'll be escorted back aboard your ship. We'll make for the port." He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Abigail able to stare at his retreating figure, all practiced poise long gone.

"Look away, Abigail," Milly said as she passed. "That one is nothing but trouble."

Abigail had no doubt. And yet she couldn't help but sneak another glance at the broad shouldered pirate.


	2. II

"I confess, I never thought you'd be able to set this place to rights so soon." Eleanor took a sip of her tea, the delicately patterned porcelain cup looking strangely at home in the pirate queen's hands. But then again, Eleanor now wore corsets and gowns, a slight departure from her previous attire.

"I was quite astonished when Captain Flint offered me the use of Mrs. Barlow's home – well, of _their_ home. I suspect he believed the sooner I would get settled, the sooner I would realise this was a mistake and the sooner I would take myself back from whence I've come."

"I do not fault his logic," she said with candor. "I never thought I would see you again Abigail."

"Neither did I. And yet here I am." Abigail appreciated Eleanor's frankness, but it did not make her words sting any less. No one expected her to survive here. _No one believed her capable._

Abigail had met the new Governor, Woodes Rogers, on the afternoon she'd been escorted onto the island. They were indeed in the middle of a war, or at least, the planning of one. The Governor seemed a reasonable man, and like the Captain, had offered to assist with her return to England. But she would not be persuaded.

"Have you settled?"

"Remarkably easily. I've had some help of course. Milly and… well, Mister Manderly. I barely see him though. Milly gives him instructions which he seems to follow with great forbearance. He does not speak overmuch. At least to me, that is." Abigail had no idea why she'd said so much.

Eleanor raised a brow. "Billy?"

Abigail sipped, hoping her face would not colour at the mention of the man. "Captain Flint has appointed him as a watchman of sorts. I do not need his protection."

Eleanor frowned. "I'm sure you do, I'm afraid. Flint is right. It might be best to have Billy close. At least until this conflict is resolved, one way or the other."

Glad to have a change of topic at hand, Abigail asked, "This war, it cannot be avoided?"

"It does not seem like it. What a fucking mess," she finished under her breath. "The Governor hopes we may yet find an amicable solution… I do not share his optimism."

"Captain Flint, he can be reasoned with," Abigail offered. She's witnessed it after all.

Eleanor scowled into her cup. "I do believe so. But things have changed since Charlestown. I fear there will likely be a war before there can ever be a hope of peace."

Abigail nodded, then thanked Eleanor for the visit.

"You are welcome to reciprocate. However, if you come into town, do not do so without an escort. The streets are restless and while I do not assume there is any reason to suspect you are in any danger, I would recommend caution nonetheless."

"In other words-"

Eleanor rose, gathering her coat. "In other words, Billy is your protector, whether you like it or not. Flint wants to keep an eye on you and Billy's the one to do it. Allow him to attend the duty."

 _Attend the duty_. Abigail had no reason to flush at Eleanor's words. But she did nd bit her lip anxiously. Milly was right. Billy was definitely trouble.

* * *

"The news has not escaped me that you are operating on the island."

Billy looked up from the tankard of ale he was nursing. Max sat across from him and stared pointedly.

"What?" He was irritated and in no mood for games.

"Eleanor tells me she went to visit with the lovely Miss Ashe, and that she mentioned you are… her protector?" Her accent made most everything she said sound pleasing to the ear. It was fucking ironic. Max could cut your balls off and serve it for breakfast if she wanted.

"I'm what Flint ordered me to be. Abigail-" Billy grimaced. "The sooner she settles in, the sooner she'll realise this place is not for her, the sooner she'll leave, the bloody sooner I can get back to what I'm fucking meant to be doing."

Max ignored everything he said and quirked a perfectly shaped brow. "Abigail is it?"

"Fuck you," he growled, downing the remainder of his ale.

Max smiled, already keenly aware of the dynamic at play. "She is a lady Billy, an _actual_ lady. While I place no value on such titles, in her world, it means something. She is probably the only one on this entire island who could call herself a good person and actually be correct in that assertion. I would caution you to tread lightly."

Billy scoffed. "I have no idea why you're even telling me this." There was an audible break in conversation, the sound in the tavern going from raucous to conspicuously silent. Max and Billy turned, trying to ascertain what had happened. The answer was apparent.

"Well now, what is this?" Max asked, but she was already rising from the table. Her eyes flashed around the room, taking in the lecherous looks being aimed at the young woman.

"I would suggest, Monsieur Protector, that you do as you are bade and spirit your Abigail upstairs and out of the clutches of half the men in this establishment. Pirates by definition cannot be expected to be wholly reputable. Therefore, she might get more than she bargained for. And I do not wish to have a brawl on my hands."

But Max had to call the last bit out to him as Billy cursed viciously under his breath, already stalking across the room towards the brunette who had entered the tavern, staring around in wide eyed wonder.

"Well now," Max said to herself. "What do we have here indeed?"

* * *

"Abigail," Milly hissed, "I cannot _believe_ I allowed you to convince me this might be a good idea. This place is a den of iniquity!"

"Hush Milly. I do not think it would be wise to insult anyone!" she whispered back. Perhaps, like most of her actions of late, this was proving to be a rash one too. It was just after midday when she'd decided to venture into Nassau town. Of course, Eleanor's words had rang in her ears, but surely she wouldn't need _him_ in the middle of the day? Faced with a room full of curious, drunk pirates, she realised she might not be equipped to deal with _any_ of them should the need arise.

"Ah… you are a fine one now aren't ya?"

A slightly foxed brigand appeared at her elbow and Abigail unconsciously jerked back, embarrassed at the motion. The man, clearly in his cups, looked harmless enough. Milly shook her head in disgust.

"How about, I shows you a good time? Let me buy you a drink, eh?"

"I thank you, but no." About to turn and flee, Abigail's eyes widened as the man in front of her was quite spectacularly lifted from his feet and flung carelessly across the room. He landed with a grunt and a muffled, "aww Billy, whatcha do that for?"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Firstly she noticed two things. He was angry and he was talking directly to her. The second that his hand was on her forearm, the heat from it searing her clear to her toes. Abigail felt a little breathless, being confronted with so much male all at once. She was used to his quiet demeanor. But this, this was something else. It was intimidating. It was also incredibly thrilling.

"Mister Manderly-"

"Billy!" he growled as he dragged her along. "For Christ's sake, its just Billy."

"Where are you taking her? Unhand her at once!" Milly hurried along behind them, like Abigail, failing miserably to keep pace with his long strides.

"If you would please unhand me-" Abigail said, almost tripping over her skirts to keep up with him.

"Unhand you?" he called back, not breaking his stride. "I have never met a woman more daft in my life!" Abigail gasped at the insult. "To enter into a pirates den, in the middle of the fucking afternoon!"

They reached the top of a staircase and he pulled her along until they were in an office. Out of breath, Abigail jerked her arm from his grip, her eyes falling to Milly who entered, completely winded but no less indignant.

" _How dare you_?" Milly rounded on Billy. Milicent Jones was an orphan, her father a friend of the Ashe family. After her parents had died, she was offered a position in the Ashe household. She was well educated and the perfect choice as Abigail's governess. She was almost twenty years older than Abigail, making her a few years over the age of forty. She had dark eyes and dark hair, the latter threaded in some places with the barest hint of premature grey. She was fiercely protective of Abigail. She also hated the fact that they had come to Nassau.

"How dare I?" Billy called back. "You wish to rake me across the coals for bringing her up here, where - I might take the opportunity to remind you - she will be out of the immediate reach of every lecherous bastard down there. Where was _your_ common sense to allow her to come to this place?"

Billy had pointed to Abigail and then to Milly herself. Abigail felt her own ire stir. _How dare he speak about her as if she were not in the room, as if she had no free will of her own?_ Naturally, she was timid by nature, but she would not stand by idly and be trampled on and lectured to as if she were a child.

"Mister Manderly," she said purposefully, feeling an irrational stab of pleasure when his eyes flashed back to her. "I would kindly request that you speak directly to me, and not to Milly as if I were not present. Secondly, I am a grown woman, capable of making my own decisions. I did not ask for your protection, nor do I need it." He snorted at that, but she ignored him completely. "Milly, if you would please excuse us, there seems to be some things Mister Manderly and I need to clarify."

"I will not leave you with him-"

"Thank you, but you will," she said firmly, surprising herself and her friend.

Milly pinned him with the fiercest gaze before reluctantly turning to leave. "I am outside this door. Right on the other side," she warned.

The door shut in her wake and silence descended between the remaining two parties. Abigail's breathing had returned to normal and some of the wind seemed to have left Billy's sails. They were in Max's office, she noticed, remembered it from her time on the island months before. The office had of course belonged to Eleanor then, but the new owner had made some changes, making the space her own.

Billy walked over to the desk and leaned against it, folding his muscled arms across his chest. Dear God, she was struck yet again by just how big he was. Surely the circumference of one bicep was the cumulative perimeter of both of hers – and then some! Her eyes, despite how very much she knew she had to avert them, travelled across his impossibly broad shoulders and noticed how the plain, white linen shirt stretched across his torso.

He cleared his throat and she nearly jumped, his brow raised when their eyes finally met. He knew she'd been looking at him. Abigail felt her mortification rise to choke her. _What must he think of her?_

"Mister-"

At his scowl, she finally relented, "Billy". It felt strange on her tongue, but not unpleasant. She couldn't help the cautious smile that threatened to curl the corners of her lips, nor could she pretend not to notice the faint, but evident flush of pink that rose to envelop his neck. He looked away, to the floor, but said nothing.

"I know that Captain Flint has asked you to keep an watchful eye over me. And I am grateful for it." His eyes were on hers now, beautiful and blue. She felt her stomach drop a little and pushed on bravely. "But I am not your property to be handled in such a callous way."

"You should not be here."

"I live here. I have a right to come into town."

His jawline worked as he pinned her with a penetrating stare. She felt it clear to the soles of her feet. Dear God.

"Do you have any idea what those men down there could do to you?"

"I have an imagination, and if you recall, I was kidnapped and brought to this place against my will. I understand cruelty, Billy." She saw him swallow, looking almost contrite. She did not mean to embarrass him, or bring up the past. Softly, she added, "You created more of a spectacle by dragging me up here, than I was want to do by simply standing there."

Silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, neither willing to concede to the other. Automatically, Abigail rubbed her arm. She could still feel his touch, as though it were branded on her skin.

"I'm sorry."

Abigail gaped. "I beg your pardon?"

His eyes practically rolled before he cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to _handle_ you. I don't consider you mine. That is, I don't consider you property. My property. You are not _my_ property. You are not _property_."

She was sure she heard him say, "fuck" beneath his breath. She could not help it. She was charmed.

"May we start again?" she asked tentatively. A golden brow rose in query. Abigail nodded, walking towards him, the heels of her shoes clicking on the wooden floors, the sound reverberating around the room. She extended her hand tentatively.

"I am Abigail Ashe. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

He looked at her outstretched hand for a moment before unfurling those wondrous arms. As if in slow motion, Abigail saw him reach out, her own hand made tiny as it was enveloped in the warmth of his. She exhaled in a rush when their palms touched, unaware of the breath she'd been holding.

"Miss Ashe." There was an almost indiscernible pause. He was looking to the ground again. "Billy Bones. _Just_ Billy actually." But he _wasn't_ just Billy, she mused, unendingly curious about him. She already knew his last name to be Manderley, nothing remotely _close_ to Bones.

"And I'm _just_ Abigail actually." She smiled tentatively and could have burst from the unexpected pleasure when he smiled back. Not broadly, but enough for her to see a flash of straight, white teeth. He was incredibly handsome. The improper thought made her acutely embarrassed. Her eyes dropped to where their fingers still lightly lingered.

Curiously, she turned his hand so that his palm faced upwards and her fingers lightly grazed across the surface. His skin was dark, tanned by the sun, his palms roughened with callouses and scored with a myriad of cuts long healed.

Abigail's eyes flicked to his face briefly, but he too seemed transfixed by the look and feel of their hands together. Hers pale, unmarked, soft and small compared to his large, dark, marked appendage.

His fingers moved, doing the same thing, hesitant, gentle. Again Abigail realised she was holding her breath. He stood then, drawing himself to his full height, a lithe movement for a man so tall, taking her hand in his and turning it around, palm facing up. Cupping the back, he traced a whisper from the pulse point at her wrist, running a finger along the dark line across the centre of her wrist before outlining the shape of her hand, his finger tracing the peaks and valleys of each digit.

"I _am_ sorry." His hand had travelled lightly to where he had gripped her forearm earlier and she felt sure she would combust from lack of oxygen. "I would never hurt-"

"Abigail!" Milly sounded outraged.

Startled, they both simultaneously snatched their hands from each other. Billy stepped to the side and away, his shoulders straight, making him seem taller than ever. Standing beside him now, she realised that the top of her head barely grazed his shoulder. He fairly towered over her.

Eleanor, Max and Milly were framed in the doorway, each wearing a different expression. Eleanor had an intrigued brow raised, Max was looking at Billy, her smirk satisfied and all-knowing, and Milly, she fairly _vibrated_ with displeasure.

"I'll er… be downstairs. When you're ready, I'll see you home. Both of you," he added curtly, his head cocking in Milly's approximate direction.

One minute he stood beside her and the next he was gone. Abigail blinked a few times; quite unsure of exactly what had just happened.


	3. III

Two days later, Abigail bid Milly goodnight and would have gone to bed herself, except she was far too restless. Her dreams, more vivid since coming to Nassau, also made it hard to sleep peacefully. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the cold, lifeless gaze of Miranda Barlow staring back at her. Sometimes she would wake abruptly with nothing but the sound of the shot that had killed her ringing in her ears.

So instead of sleep, she lit a few candles and sat down at her pianoforte. It had been her mother's and was the only thing, besides for her books and journals that she had brought with her. The instrument was a great comfort; some tangible connection to the life she once lived. More than that, it brought her closer to her parents.

Abigail frowned, still confused by her feelings for her father. He had been a good, kind father to her, a good husband and partner to her mother. To James McGraw, Miranda Barlow and Thomas Hamilton, he had been neither good friend _nor_ confidant. He had hurt them, perhaps to some extent, contributed to the absolute ruination of their lives. _Should that sully her entire memory of him?_ And how, after all that had happened, could she still feel such love for him? How could she miss him? Because she did. _Terribly some days._

Lightly, her fingers grazed the piano keys until she decided what she wanted to play. From memory, her fingers moved, playing a lilting, but haunting melody. Outside the weather seemed to respond, fat drops of rain descending from the sky, their journey ending as they splattered violently upon the roof. The music made her nostalgic. _The music also made her forget._

But her reverie was disrupted by a sharp strike upon the door. It was loud and insistent. For a moment, fear gripped her. She was alone, Milly already abed at the back of the cottage. _Who would be here at this time of the night?_ She could not even pretend to be asleep, having been playing the piano.

The knock came again, this time accompanied by a muffled curse. "It's Billy."

Without hesitation she opened the door and was lashed with wind and rain. She moved aside, letting him in before closing the door in his wake. Immediately he removed his coat and hat, his movements economical. Again she marvelled at how lithely someone of his size moved. He was not awkward or clumsy.

"I'm sorry to intrude, especially so late, but if its not too much trouble, I'll just wait for the storm to pass before heading out again."

"Heading out?" she asked in confusion. "What were you doing here?"

His face was wet, his hands wiping at the moisture running down his neck. Wanting to alleviate his discomfort, she quickly fetched a dry towel and passed it to him. He seemed slightly abashed, but took the towel with a stilted nod of thanks. She watched fascinated as he run the cloth across his face, his short hair and finally his neck. She lowered her gaze, her cheeks warm.

"Sorry, about interrupting..." His words trailed off as he gestured to the pianoforte. Abigail bit her lip, completely at a loss with him. Billy walked over to the window and peered outside. Not even the moon was visible. "These storms usually pass over fairly quickly. You should ur…" his eyes swept over her and she stiffened, "get some sleep. I'll lock up and let myself out as soon as the weather lets up."

"You still haven't answered my question. _Why_ were you caught in the storm?"

He seemed hesitant to answer before shrugging. "I've been sleeping here since you arrived."

Abigail stared. "Sleeping here? Where? Surely not _outside?"_ He nodded, folding the used towel neatly and setting it on the table. "Good heavens, why?"

"Captain's orders."

"But, that's ridiculous! I do not need you sleeping outside- its just completely absurd- Really, I cannot in good conscience allow you-"

"General rule is that no one allows me to do anything. Flint's orders are to keep you safe. That's what I'm doing until you leave."

"Until I leave?" she asked, incredulous.

"Yes."

"What if I do not intend to leave?" Abigail felt tears irrationally threaten. She hated the involuntary reaction and pressed her lips together. "Why is everyone in such a hurry to be rid of me?"

The question was out, the words a watery whisper. Billy, clearly taken aback by the sentiment went stock-still, those blue eyes focused on her. "I-." He said no more, shifting uncomfortably in the silence. Outside the rain continued its relentless deluge, so to distract herself, she lit the stove.

"I can help with that," he offered, moving to assist, but she waved him off.

"Sit." Her manners always won. "Please."

He hesitated, looking unsure for a moment before folding his form into one of the chairs around the kitchen table. He felt like an utter idiot for making her sad, but she didn't know that. All she saw that how out of place he looked, the large, tall pirate with the angelic face, sitting at her table. Abigail paused. _Angelic face?_ Where had that come from?

At this point Abigail became aware of the fact that she was quite indecently attired – by London standards that is. She wore a floor-length cotton shift, but this was hidden beneath a nightgown, the edges trimmed with lace. Around her shoulders was a large embroidered shawl, the triangle at the back reaching her knees. Her modesty, she assured herself, was quite in tact.

Billy watched in silence as she moved around the kitchen. She was not a cook but she was learning. In this world, a woman who had no useful skills would not survive. So she was determined to challenge herself to learn more than just needlepoint and Latin. She boiled some milk, added chocolate, sugar, a little starch and a pinch of salt. The smell of chocolate infused the little space, the heat from the stove turning her cheeks a rosy pink. Placing a large porcelain tankard in front of him, and a smaller cup for herself, Abigail pored the sweet liquid into the two vessels before settling on a chair at the table opposite him.

"Ah, thank you."

Abigail didn't look at him, but nodded her acknowledgement of his uncomfortable thanks. Gingerly she sipped at the dark liquid, pleased at the sweet, chocolaty taste.

"I haven't had this in years." She looked up then, surprised, curious to know more about him. Thankfully, he continued. "My... my mother made this. My erm family was poor, but chocolate milk was a treat she'd make if we were very well behaved – which with a house full of boys," he admitted with a wry smile, "wasn't as often as I would have liked." Abigail smiled at that, the vision of a tall, lanky, blue eyed precocious little boy dancing before her eyes. "This reminds me of home," he admitted with some emotion. Clearing his throat, he continued briskly, "But it was a long time ago." Abigail knew this tale, about his past and how he came to be with Captain Flint's crew.

Perhaps it was the darkness which had settled all around them, the flickering candlelight that danced in unison with the incessant thrum of rain, but it became easy for her to speak to this man who was really no more than a stranger. For some inexplicable reason, it became important that he understand why she came to Nassau, and why she could not simply leave. He had been taken from his home, she began, no choice in the matter. But she had made the choice to leave because home was no longer familiar, loving, or comforting. She needed to find her place in the world. And perhaps Nassau was not it, but she would never know that if she did not try to understand why her heart led her here.

For his part, Billy listened; sipping at his chocolate until there was no more, until the tankard had gone cold, until even the rain had simmered to a stutter.

"I have no siblings and no relatives who would take me in without great incentive. I am ruined, you see, and association with me would damage the reputation of what's left of my extended family." She said it without any self-pity. "So in truth, Billy," she said softly into the flickering light, "no one wants me." His jawline clenched at her admission. "The fact that I did not ask to be kidnapped, that I was returned home to my father, the picture of health, means nothing. For reasons outside of my control, I am damaged – due to pirate association - and no one will have me." She laughed, the sound light and genuinely amused. "My uncle actually told me that if I insisted, he could purchase a husband for me, but it would likely cost my entire inheritance and he could not guarantee the caliber of the gentleman."

"He's a fucking fool." As a whisper, to Abigail, his somewhat crude sentiment sounded beautiful and touched a little of what was broken inside of her.

"I cannot say that I regret leaving London, or Charlestown, or even Savannah. That life, the lavish balls, insipid conversation, the idleness of life has never been more unappealing."

"You've changed."

She nodded, pleased that he was listening. "I _am_ changed. And I need Nassau to help me figure out where I belong, since she has been so instrumental in ensuring I can never live that life again."

An hour, maybe two later, Abigail yawned, trying to delicately hide the gesture. Immediately he rose.

"It's late. I ur…" he shrugged, gestured to the empty cups. "I never meant to stay as long. I'll be on my way."

"No," she said, the words out quickly. "It still rains. Its cold."

"I'm quite used to both."

"On a ship perhaps, but I will not have you freeze to death on my account."

"I hardly think that's a probability." His lips curled upwards a little and her heart fluttered just a bit. She wondered whether candlelight rendered someone more handsome. It seemed to be true of him.

"Please, stoke the fire. There's a blanket over here. If you must watch over me," she said with no small amount of exasperation, "then do it from here. At the very least, it is warm and dry."

"I would rather not-"

"And I would rather you do," she interrupted, pushing a wool blanket into his arms. Their hands touched. Like before, she felt the delicious frisson of awareness spark to life between them. He did not pull away, his thumb brushing softly across the back of her hand.

"Goodnight Billy." Nothing more than a whisper between them. She swayed forward slightly, feeling a little heady.

Their eyes met and she had to look _way_ up to catch his. He was so close, his size completely dwarfing her. Awareness ran through her and she shivered. He must have noticed, because he disengaged, gently pushing her in the direction of the rooms.

"You're cold. _Go_. Goodnight Abigail."

* * *

When Abigail woke the next day, there was no sign of Billy. No sign he had been in the house before, no sign he had spent the night. He had rinsed his tankard and neatly folded the blanket. He did not clean the hearth, however, because doing so would likely have woken them. Looking at the amount of ash, she was pleased that he had indeed spent the night indoors.

But any hope the following evening would bring him back to her doorstep was quickly dashed. Unreasonably disappointed, she found herself looking to the skies, hoping that rain would see him returned. Her thoughts were ridiculous of course; just the idea that she would wish to spend time alone with him was unheard of. And yet, she could not seem to care. In England, she was considered ruined beyond measure. So here, in this place, who she chose to associate with was really of no consequence.

"I've seen you frown at least a half dozen times."

Abigail looked up from her journal. Milly was baking bread. Perhaps she should join her, continue their lesson.

"There is a lot on my mind it would seem," she said vaguely.

"It's been a least an hour and I have not seen you write a single word." Milly raised a querying brow. Nothing passed her. Abigail shut her journal. Milly stopped kneading the dough and poured a cup of tea. Gesturing to the seat at the table – the seat _he_ had sat in a few nights ago – Abigail sighed and made her way to the offered chair. She could not hide a thing from Milly.

Deliberately delaying the obvious, she sipped on her tea until Milly practically barked, "Out with it."

"Its just that- Mister Manderly…" Milly was already shaking her head. "You are judging him too harshly! He is a good person. Milly, he-"

"Dear God, a _good_ person? A pirate? Your father would turn in his grave if he knew you were entertaining thoughts about a seafaring criminal! Heaven knows I should never have allowed this. You are a young woman, you should be in refined society, where you belong. Not here, among these heathens!"

"My father's actions have made it so that I can never return to that life."

"Of course you can! These things blow over. You and I both know this." She waved her hand in dismissal. "You know what your father thought of these pirates. He thought them savages, their souls wholly owned by darkness. What we see here is but a ruse Abigail. I will not-"

Abigail halted her friend with a sharp, "Milicent!"

Slowly, she rose to her feet, needing their soles planted firmly on the ground to aid her courage. She spoke slowly, calmly, trying to keep the nervous tremor from her voice as she enunciated clearly. "I know you mean well. And I know you are one of the few people left on this earth who truly loves me and cares for my wellbeing." Milly started to protest, but Abigail continued. "I am no longer a child. I need you to realise this. What I _need_ from you is your support, Milly, and your faith that I know what is best for me. My father was a good man, but he also made many mistakes, mistakes that have brought me here, to this place, among these so-called savages. The people in London, the ones you hold in such high esteem, they see me as one of these heathens. To them, there is no longer any distinction between them and me. And there is no escaping that – _ever_. To think that my reputation could rally from this is foolhardy and I need you not to wish for it. Because if you do it out of some misguided notion that that life, that vacuous, cold, insipid, _unfeeling_ life is something that I yearn to return to, then let me be quite clear on the matter: I do not wish to return to London, unless it is of my own volition. I do not yearn to be welcomed at balls or social soirees. I do not wish to be married to any man who will 'have me' as if he were doing me a great service, when all he really covets is my inheritance. In that, father has taken care of me. I have enough money to marry if I wish, or not too. Either way, the decision is mine and I will make it with no thought of anyone's happiness, but my own. Am I quite clear?"

Milly's eyes had gone wide, her mouth gaping slightly at Abigail's passionate speech. With a gentler tone, Abigail continued, "I have spent months among these people. They, like most men, carry both the capacity to be good and bad inside their hearts. I will not judge them as I am being judged on the lips of London society. I am better than that. _We_ are better than that."

"I had no idea-"

"No, you did not, because I have a habit of never speaking up for myself. But I endeavour to change that. Support me Milly. _Please_. I cannot be on this journey without you."

Abigail was ensconced in a warm, tight embrace, tears slipping from her eyes. "I am sorry if I have pushed you. I just want what is best for you. I want you to be happy."

Abigail nodded, overcome with emotion. "Trust me."

"Always."

"I love you Milly."

"Oh my dear girl, I love you too."

They pulled apart and Milly used her apron to wipe at Abigail's tears. She really was a lovely girl, smooth, pale skin, hazel eyes - sometimes green, sometimes lighter shades of brown. Milly pushed her hair behind her ears, a habit since childhood. "About Mister Manderly…"

Abigail rolled her eyes. "Milly-"

"Promise me you'll be careful. That is all. Young men have no care for a woman's heart. And yours is pure. I do not want to see you hurt. I see the way you look at him." Abigail flushed then, unable to hide her reaction. "And I did not forget what I walked into at that tavern weeks ago."

"He _seems_ a good man. He has shown me nothing but kindness since the first time I met him. And yes, I _am_ curious about him, but I am curious about _everyone_ here." That was a lie, but Abigail was so proud of the conviction with which she uttered it. "Give him a chance to be our friend."

Milly grunted but she did not protest. Abigail smiled. She had won this round. She also realised that she best keep to herself the fact that Billy Manderly had spent the night under their roof. If Milly knew that, no amount of pleading would get her to see him as anything other than an unpardonable rake.


	4. IV

"Perhaps I should attend tonight. I do not feel too poorly-"

"You should not," Abigail said firmly. "I shall be escorted there and back, so I'll not be on my own. Do not fret," Abigail soothed her friend who lay abed. "Get some rest." Milly continued to battle a migraine she'd been nursing for a few days. Sure it was the heat, Abigail insisted she stay and rest.

Abigail had accepted a request to dine with Governor Rogers, a selection of his advisors, Max and Eleanor. It was a business affair for the most part, but Abigail suspected that Max took pity on her, knowing she felt a little lonely and isolated. Conflicted about what to wear, she eventually chose a deep green gown with lace at the sleeves and collar. It was simple, but the colour brightened her eyes, her dark hair framing her face.

Before departing London, Abigail had donated the vast majority of her wardrobe to various charities. Despite an uncertain future, she knew she would have no use for lavish gowns and sparkling accessories on the island. And when, or _if_ , she ever chose to return, those gowns would no longer be considered fashionable in any case. They would serve someone better than simply gathering dust in a storage facility. In truth, she cared little for ostentatious fashion and the modest attire required on the island suited her tastes perfectly.

Placing a kiss to Milly's cheek, Abigail rose at the firm knock on the front door. The Governors carriage was punctual. "I'll check in on you when I am returned.

Anticipating a footman, Billy was the last person she expected to see. He seemed taken aback by her, which was odd considering he was at her doorstep. His eyes skimmed across her before lowering, almost bashfully.

"Miss Guthrie sent me to escort you," he said by way of greeting.

She felt nervous. _Why was she so nervous?_ "Thank you," she eventually said.

"As it seems my primary bloody duty these days, I availed myself."

Abigail felt her heart sink as embarrassed heat flooded her face. _Duty_.

"I am sorry that I am-"

"Abigail," he stopped her with a hand that never quite touched her elbow. It hovered, as if he were afraid to touch her. Abigail was sure however, she could feel the heat radiating from the near touch. When she looked at him, he winked, a smile on his face. _He was teasing_. She forgot to smile back however, her corset suddenly too tight. Dear God but his smile was magnificent. His face, his chiseled jaw, all angles softened when it relaxed into a grin. His teeth were white and perfectly straight, lines running along the sides of his mouth. Those usually had the propensity to indicate when someone smiled a lot. _Perhaps he just did not smile around her?_ But the grin made him seem boyish and charming. Abigail looked away, too affected.

He handed her into the carriage, their fingers touching. She did not wear gloves, thinking them too formal. At this moment, she was glad she'd made the wise choice to forgo them. He settled into the seat opposite her and the carriage jerked into motion. He looked uncomfortable in the confined space and she had the distinct impression he would be more comfortable sitting beside the coachman, or on his own horse altogether.

"Will you be staying for dinner?"

"Me? No, I don't think so. The Governor's table isn't quite my idea of a good evening."

"Governor Rogers is a good man," she said tentatively.

"No doubt," Billy said dryly. "We just fundamentally disagree on how to rule Nassau."

Abigail cocked her head to the side. "What do you want for this place? If not British rule, if not the promise of improved trade and a better life for the people of New Providence Island, then what? What makes Governor Rogers' proposal different from Captain Flint's?"

"What do I want for this place?" Billy stared off into the distance for a minute. "I don't think anyone has ever asked me that question."

"Have you considered it then? What _you_ want? Not the Captain, not your crew. What do _you_ want Billy?"

His incredible blue eyes darkened as his gaze dropped to her lips. But then he looked away so quickly, she wasn't sure whether she should blame the increase in her heartbeat to her overactive imagination. Billy leaned forward, his elbows to his knees as he stared outside the carriage window. If she moved just a little, her knee would touch his. She bit the inside of her cheek; quite certain she was going mad.

"When I was a boy, I was taken from my home. Flint found me and I've owed him my loyalty ever since." His tone indicated he wasn't quite happy with that arrangement. Intrigued, Abigail probed.

"Do you trust him?"

"Flint? Fuck no." She was surprised at his honesty.

"Then why do you follow him?" His jaw clenched but he said no more.

"Its all you've known?"

Eventually he nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"I understand what you describe, I assure you." At his raised brow, she continued softly. "My father raised me to be… perfect, poised… a lady." She struggled to articulate her feelings. "Educated but without true opinion, witty, but not so much as to cause discomfiture to others. Modest, virtuous-" She caught herself, revealing too much. Billy remained silent, but his gaze, interested and earnest, made her forget her embarrassment and continue.

"I felt an obligation to continue on that path. The outcome of that course, of the life I _would_ lead, was always quite clear to me. Not knowing any better, I do believe I would have been content with my fate." Abigail felt a little ashamed by the acknowledgment. It seemed to her that she had been a weaker woman in London, to have been so content with nothing more than a middling existence. Perhaps she had Ned Lowe to thank for who she had become - a woman who wanted more from life. "But then I was abducted and brought here. It was not a happenstance I could ever have foreseen, nor could I have predicted the ways in which it would change me."

"What are you saying?"

"That perhaps something might happen that will change you too, set you upon a different course."

His eyes were thoughtful, his forehead marred by a deep frown. If he wished to share a thought however, he never got the opportunity. The carriage hit a rut and jolted her firmly from her seat. Abigail squeaked, only because she was sure to land on the floor between them, her dignity in tatters. But he reacted quickly, firm, strong hands catching, then lifting her. It was a swift movement, an instinctual one that saw her seated on his lap. Her palms were planted firmly on his chest to steady herself, their lips mere inches apart.

"Oh…" she whispered, quite undone by his nearness. Her cheeks flooded with heat, but she dared to meet his gaze. His eyes, bluer than she had ever seen them, were fixed on her parted lips. Her breathing, becoming more erratic with every attempt to draw air into her lungs, stuttered altogether.

Her right hand moved of its own volition, running up the hard length of his chest to gently graze the light whiskers on his cheeks. She had never been in such intimate proximity to a man before; not even a close relation. And she had never been this bold. She felt his hands tighten on her waist, his body going still at her light exploration. It was impossible not to be aware of the hard muscle of his thighs beneath her, his strong arms enclosed around her.

Abigail's throat was parched. Her tongue darted out in an attempt to soothe her lips and she watched, fascinated, as his eyes followed the movement.

"You asked me what I wanted," he said, the words barely a gruff whisper between them, made inaudible by the roar in her ears. In fact, she was sure the only reason she was able to discern them was because she read his lips.

"Yes."

"Right this minute?"

"Yes."

His fingers trailed up her arm, spending a moment to trace an unfathomable pattern on the inside of her elbow. Her eyes closed, her lids heavy as his fingers moved, sketching her collarbone, her jawline, her eyes opening when his thumb brushed across her lower lip.

"Breathe Abigail," he whispered, his tone tortured and amused at once. Her breath swooshed out, her lungs filling with just enough air before his lips pressed softly to hers. The kiss was an impulse on his part, quite unable to stop himself. But Abigail would never know that. His lips moved, feathering soft, lazy kisses along her jawline, until he reached her ear, biting _oh so gently_ onto the soft flesh of her lobe. Her eyes flew open as she gasped, her hands clawing at the fabric of his shirt. Without fully understanding what she wanted, her arms wound up and around his neck and she guided their lips back together.

She pressed her lips to his, experimenting with the feeling, pleased when he kissed her back. She moved closer, her one hand running across his shortly cropped hair, the other doing the one thing she had wanted to from the moment she'd first lay eyes upon him. She squeezed his bicep.

Billy groaned then and Abigail was lost. Where she was soft curves, he was hard planes. She pushed closer, their lips engaging softly. Tentatively, his tongue caressed the seam of her lips and on instinct, she opened to him. The kiss was soft, leisurely but very, very thorough. His arms drew her even closer and Abigail mewed, never having experienced such a deep seated yearning to be this intimate with another.

He smelled of the ocean; clean, yet elemental. Her hands cupped his cheeks, enjoying the raspy feel of the hairy growth against her soft skin. She was lost. They were _both_ , completely lost.

Suddenly, there was a loud rap on the roof of the carriage and his lips wrenched from hers. Abigail was startled, her senses completely addled, her breathing, and his, quite uneven.

"The carriage has stopped," he said, inhaling deeply, sounding as bewildered as she felt. Her head dropped to the centre of his chest and she nodded her understanding, breathing in and out with concentrated effort. _The Governor's house_ , she repeated inside her head, trying to calm her racing heart. She should feel mortified. Instead she felt _elated_.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently.

Even though her face was rosy with heat, she couldn't stop the shy, tentative smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. She pulled back to look at him. "I now know what some of my friends alluded to."

His brow rose in query and her insides went soft. She smoothed her hand down her skirt in an attempt to make herself presentable. _She really should get off his lap._

"Ready?"

"Yes."

He alighted and offered his hand to help her down. The moment her feet touched the ground, she felt bereft as his hand withdrew.

"Enjoy the meal. Dinner with the council, Rogers…. I…" he rolled his eyes. "Enjoy dinner," he repeated. As always, Abigail was charmed by his lack of social airs. She stepped closer for a moment.

"I do think there is something to be said."

He frowned. "For what?"

"Being kissed by a pirate."

She turned quickly, her face crimson, and in her haste, missed the very elusive dimpled smile Billy very rarely bestowed upon anyone.

* * *

Abigail had not been sure exactly what to expect from the evening. She was however, pleasantly surprised. Governor Rogers was an exceedingly engaging, clever and surprisingly humourous host. Although they had met before, he seemed to make an effort to ensure her comfort and inclusion in any topic being bantered about. The evening, despite her initial supposition, was not about military and war tactics, instead, it was a meeting of minds. Five members of his cabinet were present, as well as Eleanor and Max.

Eleanor Guthrie was as she has always been, straightforward, intelligent, and to Abigail, an endlessly fascinating woman. Yet, there was something about her that had tempered, matured even, since last they had met. It had not been so apparent in their earlier encounters. But now, seeing her interact with the Governor, two things were quite clear.

The first, that they respected one another completely. He invited her opinion, listened carefully, but was not afraid to challenge with his own ideas. The second, that despite the professionalism of their demeanor, it was abundantly clear that they were very much in love. There was something endearing about the way he looked at Eleanor; such warmth in his gaze. With Eleanor, it was in the almost unconscious proximity she maintained to him.

The gentleman in the room seemed aware of it too. But if any of them were unhappy about the reality, they gave no outward appearance thereof. _How strange,_ Abigail mused as the evening came to a close, that something as precious as love could still blossom amidst the threat of a war that could destroy everything they held so dear.

Her attention returned to the conversation at the table. Seated beside her was Captain Benjamin Hargrove. He had served with the Governor since his campaign off the coast of Mexico year's prior. A few years her senior, the handsome, dark haired, green-eyed soldier was gallant and charming. It had been a while since she could recall feeling so content, some small sense of belonging. It made her hopeful that she might find a place for herself after all.

Abigail watched Max, the beautiful _merchant queen_ as she was known, with rapt attention. Abigail knew she was the owner of the brothel in town, but she was also a legitimate businesswoman. She veritably had the men at the table eating from the palm of her hand. The Governor himself looked on amused, quite aware of her achievement as his men listened with rapturous attention. As the evening wound to a close, he excused himself with apology to attend to an urgent business matter.

Captain Hargrove turned to her. "It is with great sadness that I too must bid you goodnight, Miss Ashe."

"It's been a pleasure, Captain." Abigail meant it. He was kind and attentive, without being overly familiar. Hargrove reached for her hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back.

"Benjamin, please. I hope we can be friends."

She nodded. "Abigail. I thank you."

"Goodnight then, Abigail." She smiled and watched him leave, pleased to have made another acquaintance. Eventually, Max and Abigail also bid their hostess goodnight.

"Thank you, Eleanor, for a wonderful evening." Abigail found herself continuously enchanted as the listened to the accented lilt to Max's voice. They stepped outside into the balmy evening towards the coach that they would share.

"It was pleasant, wasn't it? I sometimes forget what normal feels like – well, normal by Nassau's standards at any rate," Eleanor said with wry amusement. "A quiet meal, a walk through the streets in the sunshine, a swim in the ocean."

"None of those things are possible any longer?" Abigail enquired.

"Do not let the lull fool you," Max said. "There is trouble brewing."

"The longer this bloody conflict drags on, the worse the outcome will likely be. Nassau will never be the same after this, no matter her ruler." Eleanor's hand automatically reached for her midsection, cradling it gently.

"You're expecting a child." It was an observation, one that slipped out without thought. Abigail was mortified. "Pardon me, I am not usually so indiscreet. Accept my apologies. I should never have-"

"You should know by now," Eleanor said with a smile. "I don't stand on fucking ceremony." Abigail laughed at that. It felt wonderful.

"We should go," Max said. She nodded at Eleanor. "I will see you in the morning. Try to get some rest. I have already lectured the Governor."

"Do you judge her?" Max asked after they had settled into the carriage. "Governor Rogers is a married man and for all intents, she is his mistress here."

Abigail considered her question for a moment before answering. "In truth, the young woman who was on this very island a few months ago... She might have been scandelised by _this_ very conversation. We are discussing _very delicate matters, the kind no lady should concern herself with_ ," she said with an exaggerated, pompous English accent. "But I've come to realise that life is too short to live it with shame and misgivings. The people here struggle to survive and therefore truly _live_ their lives. Unapologetically."

"And you do not?"

"Not truly. Not wholly," Abigail admitted. "It's why I am here. The British do not want me. The Americans do not want me." Abigail shrugged. "I need to find myself, understand my purpose and where I belong."

"Well," said Max. "In this place, people come to be reborn. Nassau is your home for as long we you want her to be. She is happy to have you."

"Perhaps she is, but there are others who cannot wait to see the back of me," she confessed.

"Not Captain Hargrove, to be sure." Max winked and Abigail blushed. "But you speak of Captain Flint?" Max paused, settling back in her seat. "Or Billy?"

"Both I suppose. Although the one works for the other, so perhaps it is ultimately Captain Flint who ought to be credited with the notion."

"You believe Billy wants you to stay on the island?"

Abigail was grateful for the darkness. She was sure she had just flushed crimson.

"No! Not at all. I would never presume… All I meant was that-"

"Not to worry." Max leaned forward and squeezed her hand. "Max understands your meaning."

Abigail frowned. "Understands _what_ meaning exactly?"

The other woman smiled and Abigail felt as though all her secrets were lay bare.

"Oh, this and that." To Abigail, it sounded like, _theees and thaat_. "Billy is a pirate, although, more respectable than most would imagine. He is intelligent, more compassionate than any on his crew and loyal too. I have seen him speak his mind, I have seen him bite his tongue because he understands the consequences and knows how to play the game."

"He seems out of place here," Abigail confessed.

"This life is not second nature to all who inhabit it. But sometimes who we become is born from the necessity to endure." Max paused, her tone direct. "Make no mistake, no matter the compassion, the empathy or the kindness so apparent, Billy has done, and will continue to do what is necessary to survive in this place."

Abigail felt a shiver race down her spine.

"I see I have upset you? I did not mean that-"

"No, no. I am just tired. It's been a long day." Even to her ears, the excuse was paltry at best. But the journey had come to an end. Max exited the carriage with an invitation for her to visit at any time and Abigail sighed in relief. _Alone with her thoughts at last._ But before the carriage began to move, she heard Max's muffled greeting before the door reopened and Billy convened opposite her for the second time that evening.

His person however, was accompanied by the strong smell of a woman's perfume. Abigail frowned. "What were you doing at the brothel?"

Caught completely off guard, he simply frowned. "What?"

Shame surged inside of her. Was this _jealousy?_ She had no claim over him and in truth, he had done nothing to warrant her irrational offence. Perhaps this is what Milly meant. She was a good girl, a lady. Her sensibilities made it so that kisses could not be casual. In her world, they meant something _more_. But that was impossible here. Not only because of who she was and who he was, but because of where they were. Nassau was on the brink of war. Only a foolish girl would entertain and cherish the memory of stolen kisses in a darkened carriage.

"Abigail?" he prompted.

She shook her head; unable to look at him for fear that he would see the feeble hold she had on her traitorous emotions.

"Abigail?" Tentative fingers reached out across the dark space and turned her face towards him. With only the light of the moon, her tears sparkled like luminous jewels. He cursed and she looked away, mortified.

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head, confused, denying the sentiment. "What for?"

"Whatever I've done to bloody upset you."

"That's quite courteous of you. But its not you." Well, at least it wasn't _all_ about him.

"Is it Hargrove?"

Abigail frowned in surprise. "Benjamin? No. You know him? What a strange assumption to make."

Billy shrugged, his jaw tense, but made no further attempt at conversation. The rhythmic beat of the horses' hooves hitting the road became a strange reassurance. Her eyes closed and she must have fallen asleep because consciousness surfaced by way of her name being gently called. Opening her eyes, she became aware of the fact that her head rested against a solid shoulder. She sat up, realising that Billy must have crossed to sit beside her, allowing her a little more comfort in sleep.

 _How was it possible to be both pirate and gentleman?_ For he proved it with frequent, yet unconscious alacrity.

"You're home."

They both sat still, neither making a move to exit the carriage.

"Thank you, for seeing to your duty." Abigail pressed her hands together in an attempt to stop them from reaching out to touch him. His thigh, now pressed to hers, was warm and solid.

"Jesus, its not just a duty," he growled low. "And my name isn't Billy."

"I beg your pardon?"

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Well it _is_ Billy… William. William Manderly."

 _William_. She'd been correct in her assertion that there was more to simply Billy Bones.

"Would you like me to call you William?"

He scoffed. "Fuck no."

Abigail frowned, more confused than ever. "Then why did you tell me your name?"

"Because I'm probably a fucking idiot, that's why. Goodnight Abigail."

He was out of the carriage so swiftly, she felt bereft of his closeness. _What had just happened?_ He was there, in the darkness, waiting for her to alight. Taking his hand, she stepped to the ground but perhaps it was her sleep addled brain, because she stumbled. Those arms, swift and sure crushed her to him.

"For Christ's sake woman."

"Billy," she asked, her words a little muffled by his chest. "Why did you tell me your name?"

"It's not important." He stepped back but her hands curled into his shirt. His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"It is to me."

"Then you're a bloody fool." It was too dark; she couldn't see his eyes, only hear the sharpness of his tone. "But no more so than I am."

She watched his lips descend towards her and reacted immediately. Rising onto her toes, her lips were eager to meet his. This kiss was ardent and impassioned from the moment their lips touched. Gone were the gentle ministrations and tentative strokes.

Billy groaned, the sound emanating from the back of his throat. Without warning, and without breaking their kiss, he stooped down, his arm lifting her clear off the ground. She gasped, pressed securely against him. She understood his purpose because how their faces were aligned and her arms could comfortably wrap around his neck.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he cautioned, even as his lips blazed a heated trail down the side of her neck. _Don't stop. Please don't stop._ Breathing became impossible. Her emotions were so heightened, her pleasure all-consuming. They were both panting within a matter of minutes. Abigail had never felt so reckless. So _free_.

Beside them, the horses whinnied, already impatient to get going. Abigail pressed her lips to his one final time, the kiss soft and sweet. Their foreheads rested together as their breathing calmed and synced.

"Goodnight William."

His gaze was steady, thoughtful. " _Just_ Billy," he reminded gently.

"Will you come inside? Sleep by the fire?"

His eyes closed for a minute as if he were in pain.

" _No_."

The decisive tone left her in no doubt as to why he refused her offer. _Dear God_. The reality of her behavior was somewhat shocking. He set her down gently and she concentrated on gathering her wits as she made her way to the front door. Turning one last time, she saw his shadow outlined by the moon before she entered and closed the door behind her.


	5. V

"I need to find some sort of employment," Abigail mused as she shut the book she'd been reading with a decisive snap.

"You certainly do not!" Milly sat beside her, both enjoying the late afternoon sun on the porch of the cottage. Milly still had not recovered from her earlier malady, but the fresh air seemed to help with the incessant headache.

Abigail did not wish to argue, but firmly replied, "Yes, I do."

Milly clucked, clearly unhappy with the turn of the conversation. "You have enough money to last you enough lifetimes. While I understand that you feel idle here – Nassau does after all have nothing to compare to the pleasant diversions of London - there is no need to seek… employment." Abigail wasn't sure if Milly shuddered because she was cold or because she was dismayed. She assumed the latter.

"Need I remind you that _you_ are employed and in my service. There is no shame in it."

"I know that. I certainly do not object on the grounds that gainful employment is beneath you. I object because employment in this place is nothing short of impossible."

Abigail rolled her eyes. "How else am I to assimilate into the culture? How else will I be seen as someone who _belongs_ if I am not present among the people?"

"Dear God Abigail, what will you do? Hard labour at the fort? Sell your embroidery in the marketplace? Work in the brothel?" Milly's voice had become a little shrill in her attempt to demonstrate the unsuitability of working on the island. In fact, her face had gone a little red at the mention of the brothel. Waving her silk fan, she made an attempt to soothe her agitation.

Abigail was no less mortified. "Of course not! I know you jest, but I _must_ find something of worth to do. Our home here has been put to rights, I have written to my attorneys, my business manager, we have settled and I cannot stand to embroider another cushion!"

Milly coughed and Abigail felt poorly for allowing her temper to be provoked. She poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table between them and passed it to her companion.

"We should get you to the doctor. It's been a week and you are still not recovered."

Milly drank deeply before settling back in her chair. She looked exhausted. "A few more days and I shall be well mended."

Abigail bit her lip, worried. "A few more days. That is all."

Milly continued their discourse. "Mister Rhodes. Does his letters not offer diversion enough?"

Abigail shook her head. Duncan Rhodes was her business manager and a very competent one at that. While she was still learning about investments and the like, there was very little for her to actually _do_ as the owner of assets and properties. Father had never allowed her close to his business ventures and so the entire business was a mystery to her. But she was learning. She did not want to be ignorant of how her money was invested and handled.

"Duncan is thorough in his communication. But truly he is quite competent. I shall make you a promise. I shall accept no employment that is morally disreputable."

"I accept."

Abigail raised a brow. "You acquiesce quite easily."

Milly patted Abigail's cheek. "My dear, with those terms, there shall be no suitable role left for you on this island."

For the second time that afternoon, Abigail rolled her eyes in abject amusement.

But the unthinkable happened before Abigail could set her mind to employment opportunities and the decision to seek some sort of occupation was taken from her hands. Pirates, loyal to no crew, coordinated and detonated an explosion in the middle of the market. The reason for the act was yet unclear, but it was an act of rebellion against English rule. In the wake of the blast the streets were in panicked disarray. The infirmary, already overrun with soldiers recovering from tropical illnesses, became a crowded den. Not only were there too many soldiers in a confined space, but there were too few to help care for the sick and infirm. The two surgeons on hand were doing the best they could, but they needed help to apply fresh bandages and mop fevered brows.

While Governor Rogers and his council made plans to capture the errant faction, Abigail had volunteered her services at the infirmary. While skeptical, Eleanor was grateful for the assistance. Some of the girls from the brothel had also come to assist at Max's behest. At least there was a common purpose. Not only soldiers had been wounded in the explosion, local men, women and a few children had also been injured.

Milly's own headache and fever had not abated. She seemed struck by the same malady that Governor Rogers had suffered. Abigail had been beside herself initially, but after another week, signs seemed to point towards a slow, but full recovery. Max in particular had been a wonderful support to her, showing her great kindness. Milly was brought to the infirmary to be treated, but had been moved to the Governors home to convalesce. Despite her ill health, Milly was not pleased with Abigail's plans to volunteer. However, in her beleaguered state, her opinion hardly carried much weight. And in line with their agreement, nursing was hardly morally reprehensible; therefore she could make no further objection.

Abigail also realized, she missed Billy. She did not see him as often as she had initially, as most days she was now escorted into and from town by a member of the militia. It was understandable. With the island under siege, he had duties to his Captain no doubt. And as she was now under the protection of Governor Rogers, his constant presence was excessive. But some mornings, when she least expected it, she would find him waiting outside the cottage, the picture of quiet patience. That morning as Abigail exited her home, was one of those days.

Without Milly, there was no need to take the carriage into town. It was cumbersome and honestly, Abigail needed the exercise, so had begun the habit of riding into town on her horse when escorted by the militia.

Watching Billy ride beside her, she knew she would never again subject him to the restrictions of a carriage unless it was completely necessary. He was vital, in command and so very handsome atop his horse. His large frame was lithe, elegant and at one with his stead. As the young gossips in London would say, he was _a fine specimen of a man_. In this case, she could do nothing but agree. He was rugged, _very_ male and altogether incredible.

They spoke nothing of their fevered kisses. Abigail went crimson thinking about it and realized quite surprisingly that she very much wanted him to do it again. Besides for her worry over Milly, his kisses were the other thing that she thought of constantly.

"You ride well," he commented as they set upon the road into town. Today he wore dark trousers, brown leather boots and a green linen shirt that clung to his biceps. Honestly, just the sight of his arms and she felt quite ready to descend into a fit of swooning. She almost smiled, knowing if she were to mention it to Milly, the older woman might literally prepare a ship and single handedly sail her back to London.

"It is amongst the sanctioned activities for ladies. Along with needlepoint, mastering multiple languages, being a charming host, excellent conversationalist and of course, a good wife and mother," she finished drolly.

"I take it you are master of them all? Well, apart from the wife and mother bit." He didn't smile, but his tone was light, teasing as their horses cantered side by side.

Abigail colored. "Horse-riding, perhaps yes. I've always loved horses and took to it partly because it is a solitary activity. It allowed me time to myself."

Billy frowned. "Isn't that the opposite of what young ladies should do?"

"I have always been timid and shy. An observant personality makes society in general quite uncomfortable. They prefer ladies who blather on incessantly, even when saying nothing at all worth listening to. So you see, as I am neither a great beauty, nor a great conversationalist due to my lack of temerity. I was quite justly considered a bore."

"Pretty much proves my theory."

"What theory would that be?"

"That the English are fucking idiots," he said so directly, as it if were a known truth. Abigail flushed with pleasure.

She turned her face into the breeze in the hope of cooling her flaming cheeks. _What did one say to such a comment?_ Billy came to her rescue by changing the tack of their conversation.

"I ur… couldn't quite believe it when Miss Guthrie told me you were volunteering at the infirmary. You seem to be enjoying it. An odd occupation for someone…" His words trailed off.

"You give you leave to finish your thought. I am quite well versed in being underestimated. You mean an odd occupation for someone who has been cosseted her entire life?"

"I didn't mean-"

"Well, yes you did," she said quietly. "But it's alright because you wouldn't be incorrect. I look forward to proving to people that I am capable of more than they expect."

"I'm beginning to see that." His tone made her look at him. His eyes were warm and so very blue. And in them was something she'd have liked to believe was pride.

"Anyway, Eleanor needed the assistance and I something to do. While my plan was to settle here a while, I admit to giving little thought to what I would do once I got here."

"You still believe there is a home to be made here?" _Was his tone hopeful?_

"I don't know," she said honestly.

"You don't?" He frowned. _Was he displeased?_ He was so confusing!

"No. But I do hope so." His expression was now inscrutable. They'd also reached the infirmary. She'd barely reined in her horse before he was beside her, reaching to lift her from the horse. Abigail did not hesitate; she leaned down and allowed him to assist her. His touch was electric and her heart rate doubled as her feet touched the ground. The difference in their height was never more apparent as her neck craned to look at him. He stood so close, his hands on her waist, hers braced on his forearms.

The spell was broken when her name was called from across the street. Billy stepped back, tying her horse to the post.

"Captain Hargrove." The soldier reined his horse in beside hers. To Billy, he nodded vaguely. Billy's jaw clenched. It was clear they had met before.

To Abigail he said, "I'll see you at sunset."

She nodded and watched as he effortlessly mounted his horse and galloped into the opposite direction. This left her with the Captain.

"With your permission, I would be more than happy to see you home this evening."

"Thank you, but I've already engaged Mister Manderly." It was a lie of course, but Abigail found it slipped from her lips rather easily.

"Another time then? Perhaps I could call on you?"

Abigail felt uneasy. There was a spark on interest in his eye. While she was happy to accept his friendship, she was not looking for a romantic entanglement. Frankly, she had her hands full with a pirate. While the Captain was charming, she was not interested in being courted. Abigail bit her lip, uncomfortable with this type of situation. She had so little experience with men and hated confrontations. She was rescued from a response by the morning breakfast bell.

"I must attend my duty. Good morning, Captain." She hurried inside without looking back.

* * *

"This is tiring work, yes?" she rubbed the back of her neck and turned to see Max walking towards her. She offered Abigail a tankard with cold water and she sipped at it gratefully. It _was_ tiring work. But it was also satisfying to feel needed.

"There is so much to do. I feel as though I should be in three places at once. And yet that is not physically possible."

They stood in the middle of the infirmary. It was really just a large room that covered the entire ground floor of what used to be a wealthy landowners house. The second floor was where the two surgeons operated. There were also rooms that were used for patients who were in critical conditions.

All around them men lay with head wounds, gashes, bruises, bones that were reset, some with amputations. Abigail had no skill with nursing, but she had never been sick at the sight of blood. She was therefore able to clean wounds and reapply bandages as instructed.

"It never fails to surprise what men are capable of doing to each other. It is my experience that we have more in common, and yet we always choose to focus on the differences, instead of celebrating common ground."

Abigail nodded, curious about the beautiful woman. "If I may be so bold as to enquire, how long have you lived in Nassau?"

"I was not ten years old when I came to the Island with my father. I was born in France, but my mother died in childbirth. I was educated there, before being brought here. This has been home longer than France ever was."

"Do you never yearn to return?"

"To see the place of my birth?" she shrugged. "Perhaps. But I have no connection with that life, that place or its people. This island, with all its politics, with all the memories – good and bad – is a part of my blood. I could no sooner choose another home. This is my home."

"You speak with such conviction. I wish I knew where I belonged with greater certainty."

Max took her arm and steered her towards the door. "Every day you are here, you surrender a piece of yourself to Nassau. You will wake up one day and you will know."

"Know what?"

"Whether you will stay or go. Now," she said with finality, "enough of this talk. You are tired and we could both use a drink, yes?"

She _was_ hungry. "I really should find one of the militia men to escort me home-"

"I will make sure that your protector is informed of your whereabouts." Abigail knew she meant Billy. She also did not protest the plan. "So if that is your only objection…?" Abigail nodded. "Alright. Let's then, as the French say, _put our hair down_. Or something to that effect."

She laughed and Max smiled too. Together they crossed the road and entered the tavern.

* * *

Abigail knew the minute he walked in. It felt as though her entire body was attuned to his presence. She sat at a little table in the corner with Max. They had spent the last hour talking. Abigail realised how much she missed having other women to talk to. This one however, was infinitely more interesting than any of her previous acquaintances. She was also a fascinating mix of shrewdness and vulnerability. Max was definitely what she'd heard her father refer to as, 'street smart'.

"Ah yes, I see your Billy has arrived."

"He is not _my_ Billy."

"Oh, I beg to differ," she whispered with a wink as she waved him over. Max stood, signaling for him to occupy the seat she'd just vacated.

"You've come back here." His tone was accusatory, his expression dark. "Back into this tavern."

Abigail frowned and spoke softly, but decisively. "I was under the distinct impression that we have already had this conversation."

He rolled his eyes. "Perhaps we didn't finish it."

Max looked from one to the other, their gazes locked in a battle of wills. "A drink perhaps?" she offered.

"No. I've got to get Abig– Miss Ashe – home."

"Sit Billy," Max said, more a command than a request. Abigail hid her smile when after a hard stare and a frown, he actually sat as she bade him do. "I've just ordered dinner for Abigail and myself. You might as well enjoy it in my stead."

"You did not-" Abigail began to protest.

"Did I not say? I thought I had told you. My cook is already preparing the meal and it would not make business sense for it to go to waste." She signaled to the barkeep and a minute later, a tankard of ale rested before him and a small cup of red wine in front of her.

He sighed, resigned. He raised his ale and sipped before leaning his forearms on the table. "What's gotten into her?" Billy muttered.

"No idea. But as she is providing me with dinner, I shall not complain." Abigail offered him a small smile. "Can we not quarrel about this?"

He was about to argue but seemed to change his mind. He looked around the tavern. No one was paying them any attention. Well, perhaps Max was, Abigail noted.

His gaze fixed on her. "How is the urm… cooking lessons going?"

She'd told him about this on one of their infrequent morning rides into town. It was an excellent time to talk. Truth be told, Abigail learnt only a very little about him during these times and worked hard to get him to speak about himself. Inevitably, she did most of the talking.

"Without Milly's direct supervision? Quite dismally. The Governor's cook has taken pity on me and has had a few things delivered. I suspect its on Eleanor's instruction. Well, perhaps Milly's instruction _to_ Eleanor sounds more plausible. She still convalesces at the Governors home."

Billy smiled and she wished he would do it more often. She was reminded then about the reasons she thought him out of place when she'd first met him. Despite his profession, he was not hardened like so many of his shipmates were. Captain Flint, his second Mister Silver, even Ned Lowe and Charles Vane; there was something decidedly dark about them. She knew Billy had killed before – Captain Flint told her as much – but whatever darkness lurked inside of him, it had not yet consumed so much of his soul.

As always, her eyes fell to his arms – so strong and capable – and came to rest on the multitude of bands, cords and beads that adorned his wrists. On the right, a broad, brown leather band was clasped into place. Across it a single strand of intermittent dark yellow beads were woven. On the left, two thin leather strips, one a darker shade of brown than the other, were wrapped around his wrist multiple times, the ends tied together with silver buckles of different sizes. Although separate pieces, they crossed over each other to form what could be mistaken for a single piece of jewelry. _He wore no rings._

"If I may, were those gifts?" Her eyes gestured towards the numerous leather and beaded necklaces that was clasped around his neck.

He seemed surprised by her question and lifted a hand to touch them. "These?" Abigail nodded.

He fingered them and she realised there were three separate necklaces. The first was a long string of copper coloured beads that wrapped around his neck at least twice. They gave the illusion of separate pieces, but were indeed only one. He lifted that one now for her to see. "I suppose they _were_ gifts, as I purchased none of them." His grin was boyish and she was charmed. "These were from a crew member I met off the island of Mallorca years ago. We sailed together for almost a year before he returned to England. These were his talisman at sea, said it brought him luck. He hoped it would bring me luck too."

"That's lovely. And has it?"

"Mostly, yes." He fingered the second, a simple black leather string with two large glass beads at the end. "This was from Mister Gates." Billy's humour dimmed. "He was the Quartermaster of the Walrus. After his death I assumed the position."

"You were close." It was a statement. She could tell from his downcast eyes and the rigid set of his jaw.

"He was like a father to me," Billy admitted quietly. Abigail wished to touch his arm in comfort, but did not know whether he would accept the gesture. Around them, the sounds faded until it felt as though they were the only two in the establishment.

"What happened to him?"

His fists tightened around his tankard. "He was killed."

She wanted to ask _how_ , but did not dare. A cold shiver passed through her. Perhaps some things were best left unspoken.

"I am sorry, Billy." Their eyes met and held, her eyes now more green than brown as they gazed at him in earnest. Behind them, a pitcher crashed to the ground, breaking the spell. Billy cleared his throat and lifted the final necklace. It was the most beautiful of the three. The beads were wooden in alternate shades of brown, dark green and black; each patterned with gold paint and tied together on a brown leather string.

"Its beautiful."

He nodded, shifting a little uncomfortably. "This one was urm… from a friend."

Abigail cursed herself for the heat she felt creep into her face. "A young lady?"

"I'd er… not necessarily refer to her as a lady…" His face went a little red. "I ur… helped her out of a sticky situation and she gave me this as… well, sort of a thank you."

"Do you still… is she… still your friend?" Abigail couldn't believe she'd actually dared ask the question.

His eyebrows arched, half amused, half surprised. "She's not on the island. And even if she was, it urm… wouldn't have worked out."

"Oh."

"Right."

They both looked away, supremely conscious of the other. They were both saved however by two bowls of stew being placed in front of them, accompanied by large chunks of freshly baked bread. Abigail appreciated the smell and realised how famished she actually was. About to sip on a spoonful of the broth, a man stopped beside their table and distracted her. They sat in a far corner, so he had not wondered by – he had purposefully made this his destination.

"Apologies for the interruption milady, but I'd like t'offer apologies for my behavior last we met."

Looking closely, she recognised him as the drunken pirate who had approached her the day she'd entered the tavern with Milly. He was also the man Billy had flung clear across the room.

"Jacob." Billy's tone was clipped. Jacob nodded, uncomfortable. He simply mumbled, "Billy boy." She glanced at Billy and saw him watch the man with narrow eyed interest. Thinking it best not to prolong his visit, lest another scene ensue, she accepted his apology and watched him leave.

"That was unexpected," she confessed.

Billy said nothing, just grunted in acknowledgment as he began to wolf down his supper. Following his lead, Abigail ate too.

* * *

It was late, a lot later than usual when they arrived back at the cottage. Billy led her in as a safety precaution and checked the rooms. He lit the fire in the hearth while she lit the lanterns. Within minutes, the cold began to abate and she began to thaw.

Abigail removed her riding cloak and stood for a minute, simply appreciating the view of Billy's broad, solid back as he kneeled by the fire, coaxing it to life. He was a fine specimen, his impossibly broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips. How did such a tall, giant of a man remain so graceful and economic in his movement. A thought struck. _She was clumsier than he was and she was half his size!_ Abigail giggled and he turned, frowning.

"What's so funny?"

She shook her head, but her giggles bubbled over. "I'm sorry," she managed to get out between bouts of laughter. "I'm just being silly."

He stopped in front of her and cocked his head to the side, quietly observing her. His stare was intense, dark, thoughtful and all her humour died. Abigail felt her throat constrict again, her airways affected as they always were around him. She wasn't quite sure how to deal with or manage the feelings she had for him. A few young men in Charlestown had courted her. But each had been more interested in her dowry than her person. She therefore had very little experience with men. With a pirate… well, even less.

"Billy." It was a confused whisper, a question, a plea. It was everything.

Without words, he drew her into his arms and Abigail went willingly. It had been too long since she'd felt his arms around her, his solid chest pressed against her own. She sighed when his tongue touched hers, his hand gently twisting in her hair to angle her head until they fit perfectly.

Her hands tried to reach everywhere at once. He was so much male and so very beautiful to her. He leaned down, their faces pressed so close she could see his individual eyelashes. Holding her gaze, he reached down with one arm and lifted her until they were at eye level.

"Better?" he asked, placing a soft, chaste kiss on her lips. Abigail wound her arms around his neck; eager, shy, willing all at once.

Their lips touched in sweet surrender. What she did not know about kissing, she made up for with innocent eagerness. His arm circled her ribcage and she gasped against his lips, all breath rushing from her lungs. Her entire body ached in ways she had never experienced before.

Behind them the fire crackled, but the heat they generated between them was what warmed her. Before long, the kisses were not enough. She felt frustration at the barrier of his shirt. She wanted to touch his skin, feel what it felt like.

"Abigail," he whispered, his hands making a feeble attempt to gentle their mutual ardor. But it seemed that when he drew back from her lips, she would follow him and with a groan their mouths would fuse once more.

"Abigail," he tried again. This time, he physically set her down and took a step back. Confused, she reached for him, her hands resting on his chest. She could feel his heart racing. Or perhaps it was her own. She couldn't tell any longer. He placed his hands on hers, holding her to his heart, but staving her movement.

His eyes were so very blue. She felt as though she could get lost in them.

"I urm…" she saw his throat work as he swallowed. "I should go."

It took her a minute to discern his meaning. It took her a moment to regain her senses. She bit her lip, mortified.

Tenderly, he took her hands and placed a kiss on them. Her heart stuttered at the sight of him – so gentle, always so kind. And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Abigail swayed and reached for the chair nearby. Oh dear. She _was_ courting trouble.


	6. VI

Abigail saw Milly plumped up against the pillows and she felt relief course through her veins. Flinging herself across the room with sheer abandon, she hugged her friend tightly.

"Thank God. I am _so_ happy to see you looking well. I cannot lose you Milly. Promise me-"

"My dear girl, it would take a lot more than a tropical fever to be rid of me." Milly wiped at Abigail's tears. "Now, none of that my dear. I am well."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes. I feel better with each passing day. I'm still weak, but the doctor says I should be able to convalesce at home within a few days."

Abigail smiled as dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. "Milicent Jones, did you just say _'home'_?"

Milly rolled her eyes as Abigail grinned. "Slip of the tongue, I assure you."

"Well, I am delighted."

"I am sure you are. Now," Milly said. "Tell me everything I've missed."

Abigail spoke at great length about the explosion, her volunteer work, the negotiations with Captain Flint, Governor Rogers, Eleanor's pregnancy (which Milly found scandalous) and all manner of other news, some trivialities even to entertain. But she kept the most important news to herself.

The news that she'd been kissed by a pirate. _And she did not regret any of it._

* * *

Abigail looked up from the ledger in front of her. She'd been tasked with counting some of the inventory and recording the infirmary's stock levels. But her focus was divided. Across the room, one of the girls from the brothel – another volunteer – was shamelessly flirting with a soldier. He was not a patient; he was one of the sentries posted for protection. The girl looked about her age, but it was difficult to be sure. Her gown, a wispy corseted creation, was cut so low in the front; her breasts were practically on full display. Abigail was caught between abject embarrassment and relentless fascination.

"That's Raina." Startled, Abigail turned to see another of Max's girls beside her. She carried a basket filled with clean, unfolded bandages. They needed to be rolled and counted. "She's been working particularly hard to get that one t'bed. He's not so shy 'bout tipping you see," she whispered with a conspiratorial wink. She was dressed in a similar fashion to the other girl – _Raina_ \- and Abigail forced herself _not_ to look at her voluptuous chest.

Abigail's eyes widened. "You mean, you've already…"

"Fucked him? Yes. One o'the better evenings if I'm t'be honest." Abigail swallowed, not sure what the appropriate response was. While she decided, the young woman said, "I'm Liz."

Liz was slightly taller than Abigail, but had clear green eyes that slanted slightly at the ends, giving her an exotic look. Her hair was raven black, all silken, loose curls. She was quite beautiful.

"Abigail."

"Oh, I know who y'are. You were all anyone talked 'bout a few months ago. Had the entire island wondering what Captain Flint and Vane would do t'each other to get a'hold of you."

"Captain Flint escorted me home." _Home_. The assertion felt untrue somehow. "He escorted me to Charlestown." Better.

"I've never been." Liz sighed. "Don't suppose I'll ever see anything more'n this place."

Unable to stem her curiosity, Abigail gave up any pretence of work and gestured for Liz to sit beside her.

"You were born here?" she asked tentatively.

"My mother was a working girl. Could say it runs in the family. I've a sister that works for Max too."

"And…" Abigail licked her lips, wanting to be careful not to offend. "You're happy with your chosen profession?"

Liz laughed. "Oh honey, y'make it sound so fancy. My jobs naught but a way of ensuring I put food to table. Max treats us all well enough, so the working conditions aren't like some o'the shit holes out there."

Abigail knew so little about the relations between men and women. Of course she knew where children came from. But the familiarity between the sexes here, the freedom to touch, kiss, the absence of formalised courting practices was a source of great fascination. Her own mortification notwithstanding, she allowed her curiosity some leeway.

"How old were you when you-" Abigail blushed. "I'm sorry, it's indelicate of me to-"

"No need t'make yourself uncomfortable. We're just two girls eh?" Abigail nodded, unsure what response to give and so gave none. Liz didn't seem to notice. "I was fifteen when I came to the brothel."

"Fifteen?!" Abigail couldn't hide her shock. _Fifteen?_ Good Lord!

"Old enough t'know 'bout pleasuring. I'd seen my mother bring pirates to bed for years." Abigail was shocked. "Simply a matter of putting it all into practice."

"Your father?"

Liz shrugged. "Never knew him. Never cared." She looked at Abigail inquisitively. "What brings a fine lady like y'self back to Nassau? There'll be war before long. I can feel it."

"I left the colonies in such a hurry, I did not know about Nassau's troubles until I was already upon her and well, by then it was too late to do anything about it."

"But y'stayed?"

"My father passed on, I have no real family to speak of and I had some unfinished business with Captain Flint."

Liz looked at her with something akin to respect. "You're a tough one eh? And not so missish by half. I'd heard ladies 'ave certain airs. But you're alright. Besides, staring down Captain Flint takes fucking balls."

Abigail felt a giggle rise at the other woman's crude turn of phrase. She also felt pride at what she considered a compliment of sorts. Perhaps she would fit in here after all. The evening bell rang. It was time for patients to receive their luncheon.

Liz rose. "I'll be back t'help y'with the bandages."

"Thank you," Abigail said with a smile. "For the company." Liz winked before leaving Abigail to her thoughts. Across the room, Raina and the soldier were no longer in the room. She had a good idea what they were doing.

She sighed. This place was so different to anything she had ever known. Polite society was all about rules, protocols and appearances. Here, people seemed to live their lives, governed by their own wishes, striving to achieve only that which would make them happy. The notion was in complete contradiction to what she had been taught her entire life. However, sitting in the middle of an infirmary on an island filled with pirates, prostitutes, women who were legitimate businesswomen, respected by men as peers and advisers, she could not make a case for why anyone would choose to live her cosseted life in London. These people were no more savages than all of London was filled with gentlemen.

Her thoughts drifted to Billy with his beautiful blue eyes, strong arms, elusive boyish charm and _oh_ , his wicked kisses. It was completely improper, she knew it was. And yet, she bit her lip in confused frustration. _Improper_. The label definitely applied when viewing her life through the lens of the English aristocracy. In England, willingly allowing a man such as he to even _speak_ to her would be seen as an utter corruption of her moral compass. And as God is her witness, they had done a little more than speak. Abigail felt her cheeks warm as she contemplated. And yet here, in this place, were they bound by the same conventional rules? By her own admission she no longer felt comfortable in her old life. But did that mean she was ready, or even willing to embrace its debauched counterpart? It was all so incredibly confusing and she wished, not for the first time, that she had someone to share her thoughts with. Milly was out of the question. She would never understand. She wrote in her journal, but journals could not offer any council on what to do about her burgeoning feelings for a sandy-haired pirate. None the wiser, Abigail returned to her counting and tried to put Billy Manderly far from her thoughts.

* * *

Abigail sat in the parlour of the Governors home and sipped a cup of tea. She had come to visit with Milly, but as she was still asleep, and she had not wanted to disturb her. Instead, she was offered a seat in the parlour and offered refreshment.

The house was old, but it was clear it had once been quite grand. Paint was chipped in places, the floors weathered. But there was something noble in its bearing. The house had after all been the home of numerous governors who were a large part of Nassau's story.

"Miss Ashe."

Abigail looked up in surprise as the Governor entered, even more astonished when he took a seat opposite her, pouring himself a cup of tea.

"Governor Rogers. I am sorry to impose. Milly-"

He waved away her concern. "Please, do not trouble yourself. It is no inconvenience at all. Truth be told, I've come to find you."

"Find me?"

"Well, you are the friendliest face in this house at the moment," he teased. "Eleanor tells me you've settled and that you're an excellent help with the infirm. Your service to the crown is appreciated."

"I have settled, faster than even I imagined I might. This place has a strange way of settling in my soul without my knowledge," she said wryly, a little self conscious of the admission, but bravely uttering her truth.

" _Or_ permission. When I set sail from England, I never imagined I would come to love this island."

"Everything is so different from home. From _England_ ," she corrected. "Even the Americas. It's sometimes quite the assault to my sensibilities."

"Yes, I imagine it is." He inclined his head, thoughtful, and Abigail was struck by how handsome he was. "I do not believe Nassau will ever yield to British custom. In that I simply mean that while we may subdue her, I do not think she will ever truly be tamed. I have come to appreciate that reality."

"How have you reconciled all of this with where you come from? You had a life in England, a different one I imagine."

"As with most things, it is easier for men to travel the world in search of adventure. There is the expectation that women remain in their home and at the hearth."

"Yes, quite." Abigail thought of the women of her acquaintance. All they ever wanted was to marry and bear children. That choice, one she too held at some point, seemed so far from her at present reality.

"And yet, I have met women here, on this island, who are braver, more competent, resilient even, than many a male counterpart in London. Survival here is different. The same rules do not apply, they simply have no place. Whitehall would no doubt descend into a frenzy were I ever to utter such a blasphemous thought. But the reality is, Nassau is not London. She will never _be_ London. And thank God for it."

Setting down her cup, Abigail voiced her opinion. "I have spent much time ruminating on the differences between polite society and what I've encountered here. I reflect also on the untruths, spoken with such conviction in ballrooms across England, about the moral corruption and decay of all who live here."

"And what conclusion have you reached?"

"That we all carry the propensity for love and hate, good, bad, kindness and cruelty. Corruption is not reserved for the citizens of Nassau, just as virtue and goodness is not what lives in the heart of civilised society."

"You are quite astute Miss Ashe. I commend you for it." He eyed her speculatively as he placed his cup on the small table beside hers. "May I make a personal enquiry?"

Abigail felt her nerves jump and swallowed. "Of course."

"Do you find what you seek here? I suspect there will come a time when you will have to make the decision to stay or go."

"You speak of the war?"

"I speak of more than that. This war is an inevitability. Your role within it is what is uncertain. If you stay, you will have to choose an allegiance."

"I am a British citizen."

"But you are also one of the few who have garnered an audience with Captain Flint and has been released. Twice."

"You ask whether I owe him some kind of loyalty?"

"I know you do. In your position, I do not think I would feel any different. Things here, for me, they have become more complicated than I had initially anticipated." She knew he spoke of Eleanor and their unborn child. "But an impasse will come. It is inevitable."

"Have you made your decision?"

"I have, yes. And for me, it was a lucky thing that the person closest to me and I are of one mind. It might not be that easy for you." He grinned, wading she suspected, into safer territory. "I have spoken with Miss Jones. She is formidable."

Abigail smiled in return. "Formidable is an understatement. But she wants what is best for me. So her disposition is more easily forgiven. It comes from the heart."

With a kind smile, he rose, leaving Abigail with much more to think about. Before she could comment, Eleanor entered the room. While both the Governor and Eleanor did not physically touch, the look that passed between them was filled with a silent greeting. Abigail looked away, embarrassed to witness such fleeting intimacy.

"Now, if you will excuse me," he said. "Miss Ashe, a pleasure."

"Abigail, please. Let us not hold to such formalities."

He nodded, pleased. "I shall see _you_ later," he whispered to Eleanor as he passed. This time, he did take her hand and squeeze it before he left them alone.

"I've just passed a servant in the hall. Milly is still asleep." She settled in the seat the Governor had vacated.

"Perhaps I should return later."

"If you are not averse to spending some time in my company, please stay. You might have dinner with us if you wish?"

"I would like that, thank you."

"Max tells met that you met Liz today?"

"Why does it seem like everyone keeps a keen eye upon my whereabouts?"

"Because they do," Eleanor said with her usual frankness. "You're a novelty that Nassau has no idea what to make of."

"A novelty? Surely not."

"Christ Abigail, you've survived Flint _and_ convinced the Governor to let you stay. Whether you realise it or not, you have inadvertently garnered a measure of respect."

"Respect?" she whispered, incredulous. "The irony is staggering. I am ostracised by polite society and the denizens of a pirate island think well of me."

"We live in the grey here. London is a little more black and white I would venture."

"Indeed." Her father had been quite black and white on certain issues too. Abigail felt her heart contract. She missed him so much.

"You are capable. I hope you know that." Somehow, it felt like high praise coming from this _very_ capable woman. "You've been here close to two months and you're still alive."

Something about her tone made Abigail laugh. She sounded somewhat incredulous.

"I'm trying my very best. I still cannot enter the tavern without feeling as though my eyes might pop out of my head at any moment. Women, draped… well, _friendly_ with men. Violence sometimes. But also honesty, kindness, more than I've known in a long time. There is so much here that is contradictory to… _everything_. Its as though all I've known to be true is being challenged, its very foundations churned until I cannot seem to make sense of anything anymore. It sometimes feels a lie."

"Not everything was wrong Abigail. Nassau has monsters. Your father was not wrong about that."

"Perhaps. But not everyone deserves the label. Not you, not Max, or Liz or any of the people I've come to know these past weeks."

"Do not make martyrs of us Abigail. I will not speak for Max, but I have done my share of heinous things. Penance does not come easily."

"I could argue that you are the reason I am still alive. Had you not succeeded in my rescue, I might have been-" Abigail cringed. "I would rather not think on it."

"I do not regret your emancipation. It did however set into motion a chain reaction that ended with the death of Charles Vane."

"I gathered that you shared a complex history."

Eleanor's eyes were vulnerable, despite her clipped tone. "Once, a long time ago, I believed I loved him. But my ambitions and that of Charles were never truly aligned. He could never fight for the future of Nassau in its entirety. He favoured just the parts that serviced personal self-interest. In that, we never found common ground." She shook herself free from the memory. "I've come to realise that there are many types of love. The love I had for my father – desperate, lonely and never quite returned, my love for Charles – passionate but destined to burn to ash. Max – we hurt each other more than was necessary."

Abigail's eyes bulged. _Max? They had been lovers? Dear God._ This place truly did circumvent the polite and restrictive rules of society. Eleanor, unaware, or not caring of Abigail's internal monologue, cradled her stomach, her tone soft as she said, "And now I know a different kind of love. Patient, kind, passionate, tender… I never believed it could come from one person. And this child. _Jesus_ ," she said in awe. "I fell in love the minute I realised I was pregnant. I didn't care whether it's a girl or a boy. I just loved this life inside of me. Which," she said with a sadness that struck a chord, "makes what my father could not bring himself to feel for me all the harder to understand."

How cruel, Abigail thought. Her father loved her. She knew that to be true. In that at least, she could trust.

A footman entered after a short knock. "Mister Billy Manderly for Miss Ashe. He refused to wait inside the foyer. He carries a missive."

Eleanor raised a brow at Abigail. "He is welcome to stay for dinner."

"I doubt he would consider it," she said with an embarrassed smile. _A missive?_ "Excuse me a moment please?"

Abigail found Billy waiting beside his horse in the street. He hadn't seen her yet, so she took a minute to look at him unobserved. In the late afternoon sun, his hair was barely discernable in the yellow light. With one hand stroking the flank of the beast, he seemed distracted, staring blindly with a frown of fierce concentration.

"Billy?" Abigail offered him a tentative smile, always so unsure of the correct protocols. Did she smile broadly and risk seeming too eager? Did she shake his hand? Or was that considered too formal? God knew they had touched in more intimate ways. She felt her face warm again and cursed herself for her transparency. Her musings were entirely absurd of course because really, there were no protocols appropriate for Nassau. Isn't that what she had spent the last few days ascertaining? For his part, he seemed to have no qualms, no inner struggles. He nodded at her in greeting, his eyes doing a slow appraisal of her form before lowering in some kind of deference.

"Eleanor has invited me to dinner, you too if you'd like," she rushed on, unable to stem the flow of words. "Although I did warn her that you might not acquiesce. The Governor is in office." She gestured vaguely to the house and then went silent. She felt foolish and awkward. While he looked confident, solid and _slightly amused_ she realised.

He made no comment on the invitation, but his eyes were warm with mirth as he passed her a note. Their fingers grazed and she bit her lip, a frisson of awareness spreading from the point where their fingers touched so briefly.

"It's from Flint." Abigail frowned, confused. "He wants to have a word, on the walrus. Tonight.

She opened the note. It said what Billy had conveyed.

* * *

 _Miss Ashe,_

 _I hope this note finds you well. There are a few outstanding matters I would like to address. I propose a meeting aboard my ship tonight. Billy will escort you._

 _Captain Flint_

* * *

His hand was surprisingly elegant. But then she remembered that Captain Flint was once James McGraw and led a very different life.

"What does the Captain want?"

"Not rightly sure." Billy looked unsettled.

"What is it?" Abigail asked, attuned to the tension radiating from his person.

"I'd feel better if you refused."

"Refused? Why? Does one even refuse someone like Captain Flint?"

"Not often," he acknowledged. "But you could."

"I thought you and the Captain…"

"It's complicated."

"So you've said. Why Billy?" She wished he would tell her, but knew he would not - at least not here, now, in the middle of the street. Abigail considered her options and reread the note. Flint had reached out to her. Somehow, she felt she needed to honour that. Despite Billy's apprehension, she did know the Captain wouldn't hurt her. She also chose to believe, perhaps naïvely, that Billy would never allow her to visit the Walrus if there were any chance of injury to her person.

"I will accede to his request." His jaw tightened but he made no attempt to dissuade her. She felt the need to try and explain something she did not quite understand herself. "I feel in some strange way, that I owe it to him."

Billy's eyes narrowed. "You don't owe him a fucking thing." He shifted closer to her. "Do not make a martyr out of him. Flint is stone cold killer. I've seen him do things to men on his crew that have earned him his reputation. He saved your life. But it was to serve his own end."

She knew he was right. She agreed. And yet it did not change how she felt about it. "My father set things in motion, things that-"

"Are not your fault," he finished. His eyes burned with the truth of it.

Abigail felt the burden of her confusion, her father's lies, her own guilt and her vision blurred as tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks. Billy cursed beneath his breath, completely out of his depth.

Abigail gifted him with a watery smile and delicately dabbed at her eyes with her fingers.

"Would you not stay for dinner? We have some time. The Governor is a great conversationalist." He looked away then, to the ground, then out in the distance. Eventually his eyes closed as if he wrestled with himself.

"I have nothing to say to the bloody Governor."

"Eleanor…"

"Or to Miss Guthrie."

"You've known her for years. She extended the invitation."

"Christ."

"Please? For me."

"No." He shook his head, his jaw clenching at her disappointment. His tone gentled. "We should go."

She buried her foolish disappointment and turned away. "If you'll excuse me, I need to apologise to Eleanor and leave a message for Milly."

"Abigail." His tone stopped her. He was concerned. "Are you sure?"

"Not in the least," she admitted. "But I must." Their eyes locked in a silent battle. _Please understand._ Finally, he relented and nodded.


	7. VII

When Abigail was hoisted into Billy's waiting arms, she could not help but remember the last time she'd been in the very same predicament. She had not been as lucky then to be passed into the arms of someone she trusted. Reaching for him, she was raised as if she weighed no more than a feather. "I've got you," he whispered assuredly as he lifted her up and over the side of the ship. A gentle clamber and her feet were planted firmly on the deck of Captain Flint's _Walrus_.

"It'll be alright," he said by way of encouragement as he surveyed the deck and their audience. His stance was tense; a curiosity, she mused, considering they were firmly on what would be considered his turf.

Abigail glanced up; her hands still braced on his forearms, and was suddenly besieged by nervous tension. Her lips trembled and she bit them to stop the quiver. Looking around, everything was much the same as she remembered. The deck was spotless, the wood weathered yet evidently cared for. The smell of the ocean was pungent, the salt veritably clinging to the molecules of air she inhaled. It felt as though weeks faded in a moment and she was transported back to the first day she had climbed aboard this ship – then the first tentative step in her voyage home. She had been terrified then. Absolutely terrified. This time however, while anxious, she was not terrified.

It was near dusk, the sun setting the deck aglow in blazing hues of orange and yellow. It seemed to her as if every crewmember were at attention, perusing her person with a mixture of curiosity, amusement, indifference or equal measures of disdain. The crew was no less fearsome than she remembered. Instinctively, she stepped closer to Billy, not ashamed to admit that for a moment, she cowered gratefully in his shadow. Perhaps she was afraid after all… or it was not fear exactly, but a keen apprehension.

"Flint'll be in the Captain's quarters. No point in announcing your arrival. It seems like every fucking member of the crew's out here." Moving so that she remained shielded, her slight figure practically obscured behind him, Billy called to the crew. "What the bloody hell are you all standing about for? Back to fucking work!"

The men scuttled in differing directions and Abigail felt relieved. It was shortlived however, when she realized that their haste was only partly because of Billy's edict. It was impossible not to notice the way his entire frame tensed. His legs spread slightly and his hands fisted at his sides. Abigail placed a comforting hand to the small of his back before stepping out from behind his hulking frame. Flint had come on deck.

"Miss Ashe. A pleasure." Dressed in black leather, he did his legend great justice, forebodingly every inch the infamous seafaring pirate.

"Captain." She buried the urge to sink into a curtsey. It was absurd of course. But he was truly like a King of this domain – confident, elemental, in complete control. Behind him, another appeared at a more sedate pace and it was evident why. He had a wooden leg, the metal foot clattering upon the deck with every step he took. She tried not to track his movements too closely – of course it was utterly impolite to do so. But she recognized him. _John Silver._

"Billy." Flint nodded briefly at his first mate before fixing Abigail with his stare. "Shall we?" In a move rather gallant for a notorious buccaneer, Flint motioned towards his quarters with a sweeping gesture. Billy moved first, but Flint stopped him.

"She'll come alone."

"Fuck that."

The younger man's response was immediate, direct. Abigail felt the tension emit from both adversaries and while she appreciated Billy's protection, she knew this was one conversation she would need to have alone. She felt her own anxiety rise again; the weight of the connection between her story and the Captain's feeling stronger than ever. Before she could reply however, another intervened.

"Miss Ashe, John Silver. I've not had the pleasure." Silver stepped forward, making an attempt to dissipate the tension.

"How do you do Mister Silver?" Abigail noted his charming smile and could not help the tentative smile she unknowingly returned. He was clearly a scoundrel, quite at ease despite, or perhaps because of, the tenuous situation.

"Now, Billy, I do believe it's been a while and I thought we might take a moment to catch up, give the Captain and Miss Ashe a moment to do the same eh?" Billy stood his ground, his eyes fixed solely on Flint. Silver continued. "There _is_ the matter of my exaggerated reputation on the island…" Billy looked at him then and Abigail took the opportunity to catch his attention.

"Its alright," she said, her hand reaching for his. She watched as his eyes locked on the place where her hand gently clasped his own. He didn't move, but he did not rebuff her touch either.

"I'll be below deck. One of the lads will get me when you're ready." Billy's eyes were cautious, but warm, so with a reassuring squeeze to his arm, Abigail turned to face the Captain.

Mister Silver however, made no attempt to hide the way his gaze deliberately travelled between her person and Billy's, his speculation evident. Abigail found that finally, she didn't care what anyone thought. _She would not feel judged by a pirate for God's sake_.

* * *

"I was delighted to receive your missive." Her words echoed around the room, mingling with the distant sounds of the sea and men at work. A ginger brow rose high and Abigail rethought her statement. "Perhaps _delighted_ is an overstatement. But I was glad of it Captain. I feel there is much to be said."

Flint who had been pacing languidly across the room from Abigail's vantage seated beside his desk, stopped and turned towards her. In leather breeches and a billowing white shirt, he looked relaxed and at ease as the absolute ruler of his domain.

"Why do you imagine I asked you here?"

"I have no idea."

"Perhaps I should rephrase. Why did you come?"

"I don't understand."

"You came, into the den of a pirate. Why?"

"You asked." She looked him in the eye and took a fortifying breath. "And because truthfully Captain, I owe you my life."

Flint scoffed, as if he thought her words a jest. But the longer he looked at her, the sooner he realized that she was perfectly serious. His smile faded and Abigail felt her cheeks warm at his derision.

"That's preposterous."

"Did I imagine you returning me to Charlestown?" _Do not cower_ , she reminded herself. _Be direct._

"No-"

"Did I imagine that you ensured I arrive in Charlestown absent any harm to my person?"

"It was not purely fucking altruistic!"

"I am not a child Captain, I know that."

"Then how the fuck do you assume you owe me a damned thing?"

"Because he killed her! And he ruined you!"

 _"What?"_ He was incredulous. Their exchange had been rapid, each attempting to restrain either temper or annoyance.

"My father, he killed Mrs. Barlow. He might not have fired the shot, but the order was his. He stood by and let that happen. And even if Colonel Rhett had not fired, my father had every intention of seeing you both swing over Charlestown as a gross caution of the consequences of piracy." His frown seemed as deep as a well.

"All this I know. Peter Ashe killed Miranda, yes, that much I agree with but-"

Abigail continued. "Your life might have unfolded in a different way had it not been for him."

"Or it might have unfolded in exactly this way."

"He set it upon this heinous course, one that the world would see you hung for."

"Heinous you say?"

"Apologies, I-"

"Stop," he said with finality, choosing his words with deliberate care. "Allow me to be abundantly clear. You seem to suffer under some misapprehension that who I am is somehow directly proportional to what your father did. His betrayal was a blow, I admit, but my form, my person, the mold for who stands before you was cast a long time before Peter Ashe ever betrayed us."

He was direct, his eyes never leaving hers. Abigail felt the weight of his words. They brought her no comfort. He chuckled, but it was hollow, an intentional ruse to mock her. Then he let the silence settle before articulating with great forbearance, "I am not a good man. I might have been one, once, a very long time ago it seems. But then we, none of us are born corrupted. It is the consequence of life, of the sum of our choices. Some might even say it is our destiny. Your… crusade," he grimaced with false humour, "to see something that no longer exists is perhaps a little endearing, but mostly foolish."

She _did_ feel foolish then, naïve even, in that moment. "I saw something within you."

His infuriating brow rose again, a clear sign of his ridicule. "Something good?"

"Good, no," she said tentatively. "Perhaps not. But a sliver of consciousness. Captain, it's not too late."

"Abigail!" He cursed, using her name for the first time. She flinched at the vehemence. "It _is_ too late. The one thing you do not understand is that this existence did not just find me. I have made _choices_. Deliberate, well thought through, conscious choices. Perhaps Peter Ashe pushed me over the edge. But perhaps I was already at the precipice. I was never suited to life in London. The minute I commanded my first ship, I felt my blood sing in a way I'd never felt before. Despite Lord Ashe, perhaps _because_ of him, I found the life I was meant to lead. That wasn't a mistake, Abigail. It was my destiny."

She said nothing, too overcome. She knew he expressed the truth, she could see the evidence of it in the conviction with which he spoke. Perhaps it was her need to see the good in people that made her want to believe that he was capable of reformation. Perhaps his salvation would have meant she could repent for her father's sins. _But that would never be the case, would it?_ James McGraw had died with Mrs. Barlow, she realised. And there was no way he would ever see the light of day again.

"Why does he hate you?"

Flint knew to whom she referred. _Billy_. "Because like a father, I took him in, I cared for him, taught him what I could. But eventually, a child sees the parent for who – or what - they are... Flawed, self-righteous, vindictive, desperate." For the first time, Abigail understood a little about Billy's relationship with Flint. She could relate.

"My father spent the latter part of his life convincing Whitehall that you were a bad man. I suppose, Captain, I wanted to believe that he was wrong."

"He once was. But he hasn't been wrong about me for a long time." Abigail nodded slowly, the realization beginning to dawn.

"Billy tells me your plans to remain in Nassau has not changed?" Abigail felt as if she had been doused with a bucket of frigid water collected straight from the ocean. _Billy tells me_. That stung. Of course he reported back. _He was doing his duty_.

"It has not."

"Then we arrive at why you're here. I need your assistance."

Uneasiness settled upon her. Flint moved behind his desk then, inhabiting his seat with complete ease. The man in front of her had changed tactics. He was now decreeing an edict, she realised. The assistance he sought would not be voluntary. Flint was issuing an order.

"What assistance could I possibly have to offer?" Abigail remembered the words of a clergyman. _Orders are meant to be obeyed and disobedience had consequences_.

"Intelligence. I need it. And you are in the position to supply it."

Her jaw dropped and she shut it promptly. Hysterical laughter bubbled alongside utter incredulity. Had he gone mad? She? _A spy?_ There was no more absurd notion.

"I beg your pardon, Captain. But you want me to _spy_ on the Governor?" She knew what he meant. He knew what he meant. She wanted him to say it. He only cocked an arrogant brow, a smirk upon his lips. Abigail felt her anger surge.

"May I enquire what it is about my person that gives you the impression that I would ever acquiesce to such a request? The Governor, by my approximation, is a good man, with the interests of Nassau at heart. He is also a British citizen, as am I."

"We're on the precipice of a war, Abigail. You knew the day would come when you would have to choose."

"Choose _what_ exactly?" she exclaimed.

"Us or them."

"You say that as if it were a simple matter!" she cried. "I know the Governor wants only that which you wanted once before. You share the same vision!" She saw his jaw tense and knew she had hit a nerve.

"I will require that you learn specific pieces of information from Rogers. Weapons, armaments, tactics, orders from the crown."

Forgetting for a moment how absurd the request was, Abigail said, "How would I even ascertain this? I am not on the Governor's council, nor am I privy to his thoughts on any of these matters."

"But Captain Hargrove is."

Abigail's face warmed even as she felt her blood run cold. _Billy had told him everything_. "You would have me extract information from Benjamin? Betray his confidence, I-" She was outraged. Despite her anger, it came out as an incensed whisper. Was this what _he_ thought too? That she would happily bestow kisses upon _any_ man? Outrage and incense turned to disheartened humiliation.

"You think that I… I… I am _not_ a whore Captain." She was proud for not flinching as she uttered the word. Abigail felt her entire body thrum with anger, confusion, but mostly, she recognized disappointment. _She had trusted him. Both_ of them.

Flint simply shrugged, lounging with complete apathy. "Everyone is a whore, Abigail. Perhaps not always in the carnal sense, but we all sell a part of ourselves."

Her face aflame at the insult, she queried, "Why are you doing this?" He failed to answer.

"Get Hargrove to tell you everything. Report to Billy. In exchange for your service, I will see you are safe on the island, and provide you safe passage should you wish to return home."

"I will _not_ do it." Her tone brooked no opposition.

"You shall."

Abigail stood, her entire body shaking with humiliated fury. "I. Will. Not," she enunciated.

How could she have thought to reason with this man? How could she think that he too would recognise their fragile connection, that somehow, he would allow her to try and make amends for her father's sins? She felt tears burn the back of her eyelids, but refused to allow them to fall. Did he think her absent honour? That she would callously betray the people who had been nothing but kind to her?

He stood too, drawing himself to his full height. Behind them, a door opened and his eyes only briefly flicked to the intruder before refocusing on her. "You will have until tomorrow to provide your answer to Billy. If you do not, the explosion that wrecked the marketplace will be replicated in the square, then the village, then the school."

Abigail gasped, the tears she suppressed rolling down her face in shock. _He'd done it_. He had been responsible for the detonation that had wounded so many innocents. So many _children_. Her heart rebelled at the thought. But her head reminded her that finally, before her stood the man the world feared. _A monster._

"How could you?"

"A war will have casualties. If you do not do as I ask, every man, woman and child maimed on that island will have you to thank for it. This is not a game. You had your chance to leave. Now it is gone. Welcome to New Providence Island."

Abigail felt her world spin out of control. Every protestation she wanted to make seemed stuck in the back of her throat. How could he be this cruel? And how had she been stupid enough to believe that he was anything other than a murderer?

"You're just like him." Just like her father. They were all the same.

"Abigail-" A gentle hand touched her arm and she flinched away from Silver's touch.

She turned and fled; the only voice she heard was Flint's. "Tomorrow Abigail. Send word of your answer."

* * *

"What the fuck are you playing at?" Silver asked as he watched Abigail Ashe flee from Flint's quarters. "You didn't issue the order for that explosion. We've been trying to figure out who the fuck was behind it!"

"I know."

"You know." Silver felt his temper spike as Flint rolled his eyes. Despite his indolent demeanor, and only because Silver had come to know him so well, was it evident that the ruse he had just witnessed had not been easy for Flint to execute.

"That young woman tried to save my life," he started by way of explanation. "I'm returning the favour."

"So you repay her by threatening the wellbeing of innocent women and children if she does not cooperate? She is no fucking spy. She'll probably get herself hung for treason before extracting anything from Rogers."

"I knew the minute she walked in here that she would never betray King and country."

"Then why the fuck-"

"It's the only way I can make her leave Nassau! She does not belong here. She knows it. You know it. We all fucking know it. She's had her adventure, now its time to return home."

Silver frowned, realization dawning at last. "This is how you repay her. Make sure she escapes before the war escalates."

Flint nodded. "Its what Miranda would have wanted. In doing so, I would have settled our score. My debt would be paid."

"I think telling her that might have been more effective. I'd venture all you managed to accomplish is ensure that she hates you." Silver shook his head. "Christ." He felt sorry for Abigail. Looking at Flint, he felt sorry for him too. _Christ_ , he muttered again. Just when he thought he had Flint all figured out, he added another confounding layer of complexity.

Because of his service to her, Abigail Ashe had looked at Flint without the weariness and scorn the rest of the world did. She'd believed in his redemption, she'd believed in his goodness. But now that light had been extinguished.

 _Flint regretted it_ , Silver realised with another moment of clarity. _He was trying to set her free._

* * *

Abigail rushed onto the deck, blinded by tears. They were not tears of sorrow or anguish however; she was numb. She felt swept up by a current, battered by waves at every turn, struggling to find oxygen to breathe and direction to gain her bearings. Flint, Nassau had been where her course had been sent to.

"Abigail! What the fuck did he do?"

Billy was at her side and she shrugged out of his reach. "Do not touch me!" His eyes clouded over, confused. "You've been spying on me, telling him about my visits with Eleanor, Governor Rogers, Benjamin!" Billy's face went red and she felt her heart sink, knowing that she had been a fool once more. She had hoped, deep inside, that he had stopped reporting on her activities. Or that somehow Flint had gained in the intelligence from anyone other than him. But his reaction contradicted that theory.

Abigail would have been deeply mortified to know how clearly her devastation was etched upon her face. She would also never know the profound effect it had on him to know that he had caused her pain.

"Flint wants to keep you safe. It's the only reason I-"

"No, he does not!" She whispered, tired of the lies. "I may be cosseted, but I am not a child." Her voice broke a little as she uttered, "You _knew_ he was responsible for hurting those children. And you let it happen."

Billy frowned, stepping towards her again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Abigail shook her head, staying his movements. "You _used_ me."

"Abigail, please, listen."

"You _used_ my naïveté by…" She could not bring herself to utter it. He had kissed her, used her tender heart and prayed on her emotions. Milly had been right. This place was not for her. And Billy Bones was just like the rest of them. Fresh tears threatened as shame washed over her.

"I want to return to the island."

"Fuck that. Not until we have spoken."

"You may speak, but I choose not to listen to anything you have to say. Not ever again."

She saw his eyes close, as if he prayed for patience. But Billy could be stubborn too and seemed to make a decision of his own. He nodded stiffly, his eyes blazing into hers.

"I'll prepare for departure."

She was too angry, too hurt to realise that he was just as confused as she was. Walking to the railing of the deck, Abigail turned her back to the dozens of eyes who had witnessed their disagreement. Her humiliation was complete. To be part of such a public spectacle! How could she have been so blind? _And how did she justify the very reality of having fallen in love with a pirate?_ Staring out to sea, she let her tears fall silently.

"Miss Ashe?" She tensed. Would the humiliation never cease? She dabbed at her eyes as best she could before turning to face a man she had never met before. Immediately however, alarm bells signaled in her head. Something was amiss. Greatly so.

"My name is Edward Teach. Charmed to make your acquaintance."

* * *

 _"What the fuck did you say to her?"_ Billy roared as he entered Flint's quarters. Silver tried to stave his approach, but Billy charged right past him, pushing Flint clear off his feet as he slammed him against a wall.

"Jesus! Billy!" Silver growled, trying to pry them apart.

"Let him be," Flint countered, making no effort to defend himself. "He has every right to be angry. I would be too, if the roles had been reversed. Especially if I was in love with the woman." Billy was too angry, too outraged to pay the taunt any mind. He pressed closer, ready to snap the other man's neck with his bare hands.

"Billy!" Silver called again. "For fuck's sake, let him explain!"

Billy's eyes locked with Flint in a violent battle of wills. Eventually, the fight absent in the Captain's gaze was the thing that abated his fury. Reluctantly, he let go, stepping back to give Flint some room.

"You didn't set off that explosion! We don't know who the fuck did! Why the-"

"No, he didn't. No, we don't. And if you shut up for a minute, he'll explain." Silver held out a shot of rum. Reluctantly, Billy took it, grateful for the drink. Swallowing it in one go, he felt his anger smolder slightly.

Flint crossed the room and poured himself a drink too. To Billy, he restated his intent. He owed Abigail Ashe a debt. He would repay it by ensuring that she returned to London, the Americas, wherever she wanted. But in securing her life, he would consider their debt cancelled. To ensure it happened, he needed her to remove him from the pedestal she had placed him upon and make things so uncomfortable for her, that leaving would be the best course of action.

Billy felt an unfamiliar panic settle in his gut. "You want her to return home?"

Flint's brow rose. "It was always the plan." _Yes, he knew that_ , Billy reminded himself. But now, the reality of it did not bring him any joy or comfort. She had become a part of the fabric of Nassau, the part that he connected with. The idea that she would be a world away from him felt strange, wrong somehow.

"By the frown on your face, I'd say you do not agree with the plan," said Silver and offered, "More rum?"

"He's in love with her." Flint's admission was stated as a fact. Billy had no outward reaction, but the way his fists balled at his sides spoke volumes. But their discourse was cut short by a commotion on deck.

Queryingly, Silver looked around the room but both Billy and Flint's expressions mirrored his own. "What the fuck is going on out there?"

The answer came soon enough. By the time they reached the deck, a note was passed into Flint's hands. "Christ."

"Where's she?" Billy's eyes scanned the area. "Where the fuck is she?"

Flint passed him the note and his heart almost erupted from his chest as terror froze his limbs in place. Glancing at the note, a string of profanity left his lips. He wanted to punch something – or someone – in the face.

"Fuck me," Silver whispered when at last the note was passed to him. "Blackbeard's taken her? What the fuck does he want with Abigail Ashe?"

Billy saw Flint grimace and it was clear his mind was already racing with what came next. "What? What does he want with her?" he demanded, ready to tear Flint limn from limb.

"He knows about her inheritance," Flint said. "He wants the gold. With it, he can purchase more ships, rally more crews to the cause."

Billy frowned. "What fucking inheritance?" He knew her father left her something, she'd mentioned it in passing, but surely the amount of gold Blackbeard would require would be immense. _Did Abigail have that kind of wealth?_

"Peter Ashe was a shrewd businessman. He might not have looked it, but he left his daughter a very wealthy young woman." Flint said, his jaw tight.

"Fuck me," Silver repeated.

Before Billy could ask, Flint assured, "Yes, I knew about her wealth, but I had no idea Teach did, or that he would do this. I'm not fucking interested in stealing from Abigail Ashe."

"At least he won't hurt the girl, will he?" Silver asked. "And how the fuck will Teach get a hold of her inheritance?"

"The only legal way he can." Billy's blood ran ice cold. "He's going to marry her."


	8. VIII

"Why the fuck are we still here? That bastard has her!" Billy's voice boomed across the deck and Silver grimaced, pressing a finger to his temple to ease the throbbing. He'd known Billy for a few years. Granted, they hadn't always been on the best of terms, but he would swear by his life that he'd never seen the former boatswain this passionately enraged. If anything, Billy had a calm about him that always prevailed when _everyone else_ descended into fits of fury.

"We're in the middle of a war. I cannot simply sail in the opposite direction and hope that the good governor will not see it as a retreat!" Billy made a threatening move towards Flint, but Silver held him back.

"Get a fucking grip," he growled, hard and low. "Starting a fight with the only crew who know where Blackbeard's taken her and what he plans to do with her is not the brightest notion."

"He's a sadist. Am I the only one who remembers the time he disemboweled a member of his crew and fed the entrails to the fucking sharks?" Billy barked. Silver did remember, most regrettably, and so he grimaced again. "That's the man who has her. _So do not fucking tell me to calm down!_ This is _his_ fault!"

"Now wait a minute-" Silver began. _Christ_.

"He's right," Flint said, cursing low under his breath and taking the wind from Billy's sails with his admission. "I let Teach onboard and in so doing put everyone's lives at risk."

"Big of you to admit," Billy retorted.

"Mind your bloody words Billy," Silver cautioned, acutely observant. His observations of Billy told him that the First Mate felt powerless, keenly aware that with every second they argued, the wind and the tide carried Abigail Ashe further from him. But at present, Flint was her best chance of survival. Antagonizing him would not aid the situation.

"He's headed for Ocracoke, that much I'm sure of," Flint said. "He'll marry her there, make sure he does it lawfully."

"Pardon the confusion," Silver said, "but doesn't he already have nine wives? How is any of this legal? He's a polygamist, yes?"

"Not quite." Flint's eyes were scanning the horizon. "He's with nine women he refers to as his wives. He's married them yes, but in local custom only. Those marriages are not recognized by the crown." At Silver's querying look, Flint offered, "Charles Vane might have mentioned it. Abigail will be the first. And if he marries her, all her assets revert to him."

"We know all this. Why are we still here talking about it?"

"Because we need a fucking ceasefire!" Billy cursed at Flint's words, but Silver knew he was right. There was no way they could simply sail after Abigail and hope to return to Nassau.

"I'll speak to the Governor." Billy was already in motion.

"No," said Flint. "I'll speak to the Governor."

"You step foot on that island, you're not making it back. I'm not standing here arguing this fucking point. I'll get an audience with the bastard, I'll make him understand what needs to transpire and when I return, we will set sail for North Carolina."

Silver looked at Flint, willing him to acquiesce. He did not see how anyone could fight Billy – literally or with words - and hope to win the argument. The young man was incensed. Flint eventually nodded his concurrence.

Billy turned to leave but Flint grasped his forearm. "You realise that even if we set sail within the hour, he might already have wed her by the time we arrive."

"He's terrified," Silver said, watching Billy's retreating form. "If anything happens to her, we're going to have a problem on our hands."

Flint's expression was grim. "We best make sure that nothing happens to her then."

Silver cursed. Christ.

* * *

Blind terror. It was an emotion Abigail was intimately acquainted with. She felt it now, coursing through her veins, even as she attempted a brave face. When Mister Teach had calmly requested she join him on his sloop, she'd thought he surely jest. But he'd been perfectly serious. His eyes, dark and grave, flickered with no emotion as he evenly informed her that explosives were rigged directly beneath the captain's quarters of the Walrus. If she chose not to quietly flee with him, he would see the ship sunk and those currently ensconced in Flint's quarters killed upon impact. Despite her conflicted feelings towards both Flint and Billy, she could no sooner be responsible for their death. Indeed, the thought of Billy's demise robbed her of breath, even now, as she sat huddled in a corner of Blackbeard's ship, hours from Nassau, _from her home._

She still had no idea what Mister Teach wanted from her. The pirate had handed her into the arms of one of his crew who promptly gagged her to prevent her scream, then gave the order to set sail for the Ocracoke Inlet post haste. Ocracoke. Abigail had heard her father speak of it as a pirate refuge off the coast of North Carolina.

The Captain's quarters was a dark room that no one had entered since she had been unceremoniously dragged inside and told to _'sit down and shut the fuck up'._ The gag had long since been removed, discarded somewhere between the deck and this room. Abigail unfurled her limbs, rubbing them to coax circulation into her cold, numb appendages. Her heartbeat had eventually returned to normal, but the slightest shout from outside had it tripping again. Rising slowly from her crouch in a corner, Abigail looked around for anything she might use as a weapon. She had no idea what she would actually do with a weapon, but it seemed an opportune time to learn. Unfortunately, a cursory search yielded nothing. There were a few maps strewn haphazardly on a desk, some chairs and nothing else. In fact, the room was sparse, utilitarian and smelled strongly of smoke. But by meager candlelight, trying to find anything would prove a challenge.

Rising onto her toes, she peeked out of a small portal. It was smudged with grime, but the endless dark blur beyond told her that she was very far from where she had been taken.

"They will come for me," she whispered over and over again. _Wouldn't they?_ Abigail felt hopeless tears well in her eyes and blinked rapidly.

Suddenly the door clattered open, almost shattering the hinges. She gasped, pressing herself into the wall in an attempt to make herself as small as possible. Mister Teach entered – alone – and slowly advanced towards her. Within the darkened room, it was hard to fully discern his face. But she remembered the dark beard, the large frame and the bleak eyes. She shivered. Despite the evidence of Flint's cruelty, he had never made her feel endangered, she realised. But here, with this soulless man, she knew that he _could_ and _would_ hurt her. Once again, she felt her terror rise and fought hard to control it.

Another small round portal cast a circle of moonlight into the centre of the room. Mister Teach stepped into it and Abigail tensed every muscle in her body so that she would not begin to shake, sure he would be able to hear the rattle of her bones.

"No harm will come to you, as long as you remain compliant. This will soon be over." His voice was hard, cold, dispassionate.

 _Over? Would he kill her?_ Abigail found her voice, unable to stop the tremor. "What do you want from me?"

"Your fortune, Miss Ashe."

Abigail felt relief course through her. _Gold_. She would give him everything she had if he let her go. "It is yours, Mister Teach. All of it. Please, just let me go."

He was shaking his head and she felt her fragile hope fade into a darkened abyss. "There is no way of guaranteeing that you will honour your word-"

"I will, I swear it."

"There is a better way. It is the only way this matter will be settled."

Abigail's mouth went dry and she shuddered. He could not mean? Surely? "I do not understand your meaning." _But she did._ And he knew it. The slow, vacuous smile that spread across his face told her he did.

"Come here Miss Ashe."

Could he hear her heartbeat? Could he see the way her entire body shook like a leaf? Bravely, with legs that shuddered with every step, Abigail stepped into the light beside her captor. He reached for her then and she flinched, a small cry emanating from her the minute a lone finger touched her cheek.

"So soft."

"Please, do not hurt me. I give you my fortune. Willingly. I just want to be returned home."

His head cocked to the side as his stare penetrated. Abigail felt her fear rise to choke her. There was maleficence in his look, a calm violence that she had not even witnessed in Ned Lowe. His madness had been almost manic compared to the calm, controlled exterior of the man who stood before her.

"You will be my wife."

"No!" Abigail cried. But he continued as if she had not said a word.

"We will be wed as soon as we reach my island. With the legalities necessitated, we will consummate the marriage." Abigail began shaking again, so afraid she could not even protest. "I will not have the union challenged due to a technicality. But thereafter, you will be free to return to wherever you choose."

His finger traced her jawline and she flinched. Immediately his hand clasped her neck violently and she cried out. He pulled her unwilling, frigid form closer and whispered in her ear. The acrid smell of smoke; it's charred, burnt stench filled her senses and her stomach heaved. His voice was a low whisper, more terrifying because of its congenial tone.

"I have no need for an English rose. But if you do not cooperate Miss Ashe, foul will follow."

He stepped back and Abigail whimpered, unable to stop as she dragged cold air into her lungs. Tears rolled unashamedly from her eyes, the drops carrying her terror and distress raced towards her chin before freefalling into nothingness.

"Three days. Then we reach Ocracoke. Until then, your meals will be brought to you here. Should you wish for a turn about the deck, you may do so in the mornings only. Thereafter, unless you desire for the attentions of my crew, I would advise you remain here. Am I clear?"

Abigail nodded, not sure she could give anything else voice.

They would come for her. They would come for her. They would come for her. _Wouldn't they?_

* * *

"Forgive me, but you're telling me that Miss Ashe has been kidnapped? By Edward Teach?" Billy nodded and watched as a glance passed between the Governor and Eleanor. "And he's taken her to secure her fortune?"

"Right. And if you don't help us get her back, her money will buy Teach pirate crews who will set sail for Nassau and join the mutiny against you. I think that about covers it."

"Jesus Christ," Eleanor cursed.

"When was she taken?" Max asked. Billy looked to her and saw her trepidation. Max cared about Abigail, just like he did. His tone softened.

"Sunset."

"She is a brave woman. She will endure."

"She shouldn't fucking have to," Billy said to Max before turning back to Rogers. "Do I have your word? Flint will leave the bay to secure Miss Ashe. Do you agree not to ambush us upon her safe return?"

"What guarantee do I have that you will not try to circumvent our agreement the minute you have her? Or indeed, if you do not manage to secure her? Your cause would have secured thousands of pounds worth of gold. Besides for his actions with Miss Ashe, Edward Teach is not your enemy."

"The current plan is to run a blade through the bastard's heart at the first opportune moment. I'd say, he is very much my enemy."

"Flint won't betray," Eleanor said, coming to stand at the Governor's side. "He owes Abigail a debt. He will honour it."

"I will accompany you," Max offered. At everyone's confusion, she offered. "I am a member of your council, Governor, a legitimate partner to the British crown and your efforts to restore peace and prosperity to Nassau. Should Captain Flint encounter any British soldiers on his way, my presence as your envoy will go a long way to securing safe passage for the crew."

Billy's respect for Max increased in that moment. He nodded his thanks.

"You have a week Mister Manderly," Rogers said. "After that, I cannot provide my council with any reasonable excuse to prolong a ceasefire."

"A week is all we need." He stopped midstride. _He didn't have a choice._ "I need a bloody favour."

* * *

He couldn't believe he was sweating. He could feel the infernal drops, beading and dropping along his spine. Fuck. His pacing stopped when he heard footsteps arrive. Ahead of him, Milicent Jones appeared, her complexion bleak, her eyes wild with worry. He'd never seen her so fragile, so disheveled.

Instinctively, Billy reached for her, surprised when she accepted his aid to a nearby chair, although he could tell that it was not because she wantedto.

"I urm…"

"Mister Manderly, assure me that your only priority is securing the safety and wellbeing of Abigail." Despite her weakness, she was direct, her voice at least, strong and urgent.

Billy appreciated her curt tone and quickly explained what had happened. Nothing about his disagreement with Abigail, or Flint – for now – but that Teach had taken her.

"What was she doing on the Walrus?"

"Flint wanted to have a word."

"About what?"

"I cannot rightly say."

"You're lying." Her eyes narrowed and Billy actually felt himself squirm. _Christ_.

"What I am, is wasting time. There are things that need preparing."

"What is the plan to recover her?"

"We set sail within the hour."

"Then what?"

"Then we fight to the death to get her back."

"That's the plan? Fighting to the death?"

"The basics, yes."

"Good God."

"We're pirates Miss Jones. I think you can rest assured we know what the fu-" he cleared his throat. "We know what we're doing... m'am." He did not feel like a pirate just then. He felt like he was ten years old.

"I told her you were trouble." Her eyes were direct, piercing, honest.

"You weren't wrong."

"For reasons I do not fully understand, she feels a connection to this place. It baffles me, considering all she has experienced here seems painful."

"Not everything," Billy said. At Milly's raised brow, Billy felt unwanted heat travel up his neck and clenched his jaw. Fuck. He was no good at this.

"She trusts you." Not any longer, he thought and again felt the urge to hit something. "And if she trusts you, then so will I." Billy nodded curtly, about to turn on his heel when she added. "If you do not recover her Mister Manderly, I don't think I will ever be able to forgive you."

He faced her, consciously meeting her steady gaze before saying, "Rest assured Miss Jones. Neither will I."

* * *

By the time the sun began its decent from the heavens, the Walrus made her exit from the bay of Nassau. At her helm was Flint, his Quartermaster Silver, Billy and Max, envoy to the Governor of New Providence Island.

Billy leaned on the railing of the deck, staring blindly into the churning water as the ship cut through the surf. Around him men shouted orders, cursed at each other, grouched, laughed, enjoyed a moment of merriment. He was capable of none of it. His thoughts were consumed by her; by the notion that during their last exchange, she thought ill of his intentions.

She had left the Walrus of her own volition – the crew had reported it. So the mind reeled. What threats had Blackbeard doled to make her so compliant to his request? Billy shuddered. And which of them had he already enforced upon her?

"You do yourself no good by attempting to paint a picture of the future."

Billy didn't look at Max beside him. "What I conjure as a possible future might already be her past. Therefore the torture is endless."

"She survived Ned Lowe and Charles Vane. She has more courage than any of us have given her recognition for. In addition, Captain Flint tells me that Jack and Anne are with Blackbeard. If there is one thing I am certain of, its that Anne will not let any harm come to her."

"Why the fuck do you care?" His concern made him harsh. He knew it. Max forgave him for it.

"Because the quality of goodness is a rare commodity. True purity of heart does not exist in our world. And yet she has brought it to life all around us. She is good. And she is innocent."

Too good for this fucking place. _Too good for me._ Billy's jaw tightened.

"Before meeting her, before getting to know her, I would have sworn those traits no longer existed. But they do. So yes, I care. Because she has shown me that hope does exist. The hope for a better life, the hope that we, all of us, can be better people."

Billy scoffed at the notion and yet somewhere, inside, it struck a chord.

"She thought that I'd been lying to her." He shrugged. "Perhaps I have. Just, not in the ways she assumed." Billy struggled with his thoughts. "I didn't care for it, the feeling that I'd disappointed her, that I'd let her down. I hate feeling it."

"You've not been accountable to anyone for a long time, Monsieur Protector."

"I have my crew," he defended.

"I would argue that your crew is accountable to you, not the other way around." Max's eyes clouded and she hesitated, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. "We must prepare ourselves for what we might encounter. Edward Teach has a violent reputation, one made worse after the execution of the man he called a son. If he marries her, he will take no chances that the joining could be challenged legally."

Billy knew where she was going. He felt rage and helplessness battle within him until he felt sick with it. He remembered her soft kisses, the feel of her in his arms, the sweet smell of her hair. He refused to think about the reality Max painted. If she was hurt, he knew that nothing, and no one, would be able to stem his rage.

* * *

Ocracoke Island, or Blackbeard's pirate den as it was more commonly known, was much like Nassau in climate and felonious inhabitants. The sun was at its zenith when the ship arrived in the bay and Abigail grimaced as the sand singed the soles of her feet when she stumbled onto dry land. They had been at sea for three days, time she had spent on her own, locked firmly behind a closed door. As much as she would have loved a breath of fresh air, she did not dare tempt fate by reminding anyone, who might have forgotten her presence, that she was indeed aboard. Mister Teach had paid her no further visits, but strangely Anne Bonny and Captain Rackham had. In truth, Captain Rackham had stumbled through an awkward explanation of how he was indeed quite sorry that she had become embroiled in their plans. She almost believed his sincerity. The man was peculiar, but she sensed a cunning beneath his somewhat eccentric demeanor. His partner, Anne Bonny said nothing to Abigail directly however, and yet her silence was an odd kind of comfort. Despite her acerbic disposition, Abigail felt unthreatened for the first time in days when in the presence of the austere woman and her verbose friend.

Abigail felt a hand at her elbow and looked to see Anne steering her away from the beach. With her skirts hiked up to assist in managing the trudge, Abigail felt truly miserable. The heat was quite unbearable, her shoes were bogged with hot sand and uppermost in her mind was the fact that she would soon be a pirate's bride.

"Its alright now," Anne muttered beside her, but with kindness Abigail thought. "Just getting ya outta the sun is all."

Abigail licked her lips, her throat already parched after only a few moments in the violent sun. "Where is he? Are you taking me to him?"

Anne required no clarification. "We're headin' to his lodgin's all I know."

The beach was a veritable market. There were pirates and their women everywhere she turned. Crates, discarded timber fashioned into tables and chairs were scattered as far as the eye could see. Music and merriment pervaded and she averted her eyes as she caught naked women dancing seductively while numerous men gazed on with hooded arousal. This place was a den of vice, more so than Nassau she would venture.

Abigail felt her panic rear its head once more and began to see black spots dance before her eyes. Anne's grip on her arm tightened as she dragged her beneath the thatched roof of a hut on the beach. Immediately the temperature dipped a few degrees and Abigail gratefully gulped on the tankard of cool water thrust into her hand. Modesty long discarded, she drank long and deep, ignoring the treacle's that dribbled from her chin.

"Thank you." She passed the cup back to the woman who had handed it to her. Siobhan, she was called, nodded, more indifferent than kind. At least she was not hostile. For a moment, Abigail breathed a sigh of relief. She took a moment to assess her surroundings. The hut was erected on the beach, boasting a large balcony with a clear view of the bay. The interior was bright because the structure had no walls, and looked surprisingly comfortable. Large pillows in bright colours were scattered across various odd pieces of furniture, making the large room inviting. Beside the hut, a large a-frame tent was erected from old tarp and sails. She could not see inside, the entrance covered with layers of light fabric which danced on the breeze.

"Its _his_ quarters," Siobhan said, noting the direction of her gaze. "You'll be acquainted with it soon enough." Her accent was Irish perhaps, the lilt evident. She was around Milly's age, with long, dark hair. She was slender, attractive, clearly the woman in charge of Mister Teach's affairs. Those inside and outside of the bedroom it would seem.

Turning towards the sea, Abigail noticed Blackbeard immediately, watching as he gave orders to his men. She looked at Anne, but her expression was stoic as usual. Turning back to the beach, they watched a boy, no older than ten, race towards them. Abigail's heart sunk with dread.

"The Captain says t'prepare for the ceremony first thing t'morrow. The priest comes from the mainland."

Abigail did not know what the appropriate response ought to be. A polite _'thank you'_ seemed too affable in light of what his news signified. Her eyes found Anne's, her will forcing the woman to look at her. For the first time, Abigail thought she read disquiet in her gaze. But it was impossible to be sure.

"Please. Please." The plea was out and Abigail took a desperate step towards Anne.

"It's done. Y'best make peace wi'it."

"I have nothing to do with this. I would gladly give you everything I own. You and your partner," she bargained. "Please, help me back to Nassau." But Anne only shook her head.

* * *

"Are we all clear on what the strategy is? Billy?" Flint's piercing gaze found him and Billy nodded, his eyes trying to see beyond the entry of the cove towards the beach at the end of it. It was impossible of course, his vision unable to discern such detail at night.

"Are you ready?"

In response, Billy ensured the three knives on his person were safely secured. Teach would be expecting them. He would know they would follow after he stole Abigail. But he would not expect that they would necessarily want to stop the wedding. Under cover of dark, Billy entered the water and swam towards the mouth of the inlet. The current was moderate and he allowed it to carry him towards the furthest end of the beach. The maneuver was not new to him. He was an excellent swimmer and had swam greater distances in the past. Despite his surety in the water, he was relieved when he washed onto the shore. Making sure to check his surroundings, he made for cover began to scout the area. Flint would sail the Walrus into the cove at first light, giving him time to make his way to the beach on foot and unseen.

* * *

Just before sunrise, Abigail was lead to a bathtub and scrubbed. Despite her protestations, she was stripped naked and deposited in the tub. Siobhan had come to rouse her and give instructions to others. The girls were efficient and literally ignored any protest she made. Abigail had no wish to be presented as a prize. If this were her fate, she would wed him as filthy as she had been aboard his ship. But he had other plans and by the time the sun began to rise, she was bathed and dressed in a clean gown. Where it came from, she was not sure, but the low cut of the neckline indicated that it was not from a woman of repute.

Tugging at the neckline of the deep blue gown, she was mortified to accept that her chest would be on show to all and sundry, whether she approved it or not. But whether her entire body was on display was of no consequence. She would soon be married to a pirate - a cruel, calculating pirate – and her body would be his to sample.

Throughout the endless night she tossed, hoping to hear the clash of steel or the sounds of some kind of combat from the beach. But nothing came. All she heard was the occasional cheer from pirates too far in their cups and the incessant roar of the waves as they crashed upon the shore. Abigail felt numb, no tears left, her fear all consuming. They did not come, her mind screamed as her stomach churned. _They did not come_. He did not come.

Seated at a table, her hair was brushed before a bowl of _something_ was unceremoniously placed before her. She felt her stomach churn and reached for the cup water instead. As the cool liquid raced towards her stomach, Abigail heard the heavy booted footsteps of a man approaching. It was him. Dear God.

Dressed in leather, the sunrise fully at his back, Edward Teach seemed even bigger than she remembered. His long beard reached his collarbone, the dark, tangled hair braided in some places. Siobhan greeted him with a deep kiss and Abigail lowered her gaze when his hands reached for her breasts and squeezed. Afraid, mortified, anxious, she sat primly with her hands in her lap and waited. The sounds of their kisses, the moist symphony pervaded her thoughts until she thought she might scream.

Eventually however, his attention returned to her. "You slept well I take it?"

Abigail nodded curtly, although they both knew she slept not a wink.

"The priest is here, as are my associates who will witness the union." His gaze encompassed Captain Rackham and Anne who had stepped into the room. "We are ready."

"No!" Abigail panicked, her mind racing. At his raised brow, she amended. "I would like a moment with the priest – in private." Teach's brow was furrowed, his expression otherwise blank. "I… I am a maid Mister Teach, and… I would appreciate a moment with God before…" Abigail was scarlet, nauseous, and mortified at once. Siobhan laughed and offered to teach her all she needed to know.

"Now, hold a minute…" Behind Teach, Captain Rackham seemed to take some pity on her, but Blackbeard halted his words.

"You may have a minute with the priest only because I know you speak truthfully. However, your fate is sealed madam and we will be wed." Looking to Captain Rackham, he ordered, "Bring the priest to my tent. She'll await him there."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Siobhan marched Abigail to his tent and unceremoniously shoved into the cool space. Inside, alone, Abigail sank to her knees on the sandy floor. _Oh God, Oh God, Oh God,_ this was going to happen and there was nothing she could do about it. Her tears were instant and hot, pouring from her eyes without provocation. She thought she had none left. She was wrong. Be strong, she willed herself. But she could not, not for a moment longer. Behind her she heard a shuffle. The priest. She unsuccessfully stifled another sob before a hand was clamped across her mouth. Abigail would have screamed, her heart in her throat, but her body was pulled back against a hard, solid chest. Strong arms, dear God,his arms, held her close and whispered in her ear.

"Shhhh… it's me. Not a word, you hear?"

Abigail nodded frantically, already turning, completely overcome. Their last meeting was forgotten as she threw her arms around him in relief.

"You came for me," she whispered, pressing as close to him as she could get.

For a moment, he went soft, his arms so tight, she could scarcely draw breath. "Always. I will always come for you."

"Oh God Billy-"

"Shhhh," he cautioned, already removing her arms from around his neck. Abigail felt bereft, but just the sight of his blue eyes caused her insides to quake with relief. "We don't have much time. Are you alright?"

She nodded vigorously, her hands clutching the front of his shirt. "Yes. Yes."

"The priest is on his way." She nodded. "Talk with him, confess, anything to distract."

"Alright."

Outside she could hear people approaching. For a precious moment he pressed an urgent kiss to her forehead and she finally exhaled. Then he was gone. She blinked rapidly and the priest appeared before her. Behind him were Captain Rackham and Anne. The priest looked harassed, like her, wanting to be anywhere but about his current assigned duty.

"Miss Ashe," he began. He was sweating profusely and she could not hold it against him. Barely after sunrise and already the heat soared. "The Captain informs me that his bride requires some council."

Abigail gathered her wits. She needed Captain Rackham and Anne to leave her alone with him. "I do, thank you. If we could be allowed some privacy?"

"I don't think-"

"I's alrigh' Jack. Given 'um a minute eh?" Anne turned and left, leaving the Captain no choice but to begrudgingly follow.

The minute they were alone, Billy reappeared. She had no idea where he had hid, but her entire being flooded with relief. He had not been a figment of her imagination.

"Young man! Now listen son. I am a man of God-"

Billy advanced on the priest, his pistol aimed. But the priest's exclamation Jack and Anne reentered the tent. Abigail felt her heart sink. Suddenly, everyone's pistols were drawn.

"Now, just a minute lads," Billy began.

"Billy! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Rackham growled. Despite the fact that Billy was the trespasser, it did not escape Abigail's notice that he lowered his voice to conceal his presence.

"I'm here for the girl."

"Jesus Christ." Anne lowered her weapon and Rackham glanced over at her with clear annoyance. He signaled for her to aim at Billy, but when she didn't, he rolled his eyes and lowered his own pistol.

Billy took advantage. "Flint's here. He's sailing into the bay as we speak. You have to choose Jack. Teach or Flint."

"Since when are you on Flint's bloody team? Last I checked you couldn't wait to put a bullet between his eyes yourself!"

"Things change."

"Evidently!"

"Gentlemen, if I may…" the priest began, trying to edge from the room.

"You may not. Shut the fuck up," Anne replied, pointing her pistol at him.

"I'm confused," Jack said to his partner. "I thought we supported this. She's wedded, then bedded, then released. Everyone is happy." Abigail resisted the urge to throw her shoe at his head.

"It 'aint right Jack. You know it."

"Christ!" He seemed to vibrate with annoyance.

Abigail watched the exchange without breathing. It seemed that saying the wrong thing could jeopardize the entire negotiation – or whatever it was. She was not quite certain herself. She stuck close to Billy though.

"We don't have much time," Billy said urgently. "I need to get her out of here. And I could use your help."

"This won't work."

"Why?" Billy growled in response to Anne.

"It won't work. He needs t'marry her, he's going to keep comin' t'get 'er."

 _"Fuck."_ Abigail's heart sank as her gaze met his. "She's right." His blue eyes blazed with fire. She swallowed hard, trying not to sink to her knees and bawl again. She knew this was not the time.

"Unless… Christ I cannot believe I'm even thinking it."

"What Jack? We don't have any fucking time. For Christ's sake what?"

Rackham seemed to battle himself before he confessed quickly, "Unless she's already married." Billy's brow furrowed and Abigail stepped forward. They were discussing her future for God's sake!

"Excuse me Captain? But I am not married."

"No," he enunciated. "Not yet. But you can be. If you were already married legally, Teach couldn't marry you because your fortune would already belong to another." Abigail's mind raced. She looked to Billy at a loss. His expression mirrored hers.

"We have a priest, we have what I assume is a willing groom and we have…" Rackham peeked outside, "about five more minutes to perform this ceremony. Are we fucking doing this or what?"

"He mean's me…" Billy said, feeling dumb. "I have to marry you. I mean… you have to marry me."

"Ya've t'marry each other," Anne offered. "Yes or no. Time's 'bout fucking up if you're going t'do this."

Abigail's eyes widened. They had no time. Her eyes locked with his and everything between them swirled in a confusing haze. She heard Jack curse again panicked. The lessor of two evils, she reasoned in the moment. Dear God.

"Yes. Yes. I'll marry you. Him. Billy. I'll marry Billy."

"Christ," Billy muttered. He had not even acquiesced before Anne was pushing the priest in front of them. Utterly confused, he began with, "Dearly beloved…"

"Skip it. Get right to the fucking essentials." Jack hissed.

In a blur that took no more than a minute, Abigail Elizabeth Ashe was wed to William Manderly with Anne Bonny and Jack Rackham as witnesses. It was entirely surreal and she was sure she would remember none of it in the days to come.

* * *

"Join Flint on the beach. We'll handle this." Jack said to Billy. "Teach is coming. Go!"

Billy looked at Abigail, their hands still joined and made the most difficult decision of his entire life. He put her fate - his _wife's_ fate - in the hands of Jack Rackham. Christ. Impulsively, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. And then he was gone. The last thing he heard was Jack ordering, "Now follow my fucking lead. Or we're all dead."


	9. IX

Abigail held her breath as Mister Teach entered his tent. His forehead was creased in its perpetual frown of displeasure as he expressed, "It's time."

Her thoughts were whirling with such chaotic abandon, that she felt somewhat ill. So much had transpired in an incredibly short period of time. She'd once read the memoir of an infamous explorer who had posited that in times of crisis, mental clarity might be afforded to one, making the resolution to conflict, or the solution to a vexing problem instantly clear. She could now attest to the fact that in this case, nothing became clear, no answers were forthcoming and she continued to feel adrift. Across from her, Captain Rackham seemed to be trying to tell her something by wiggling his eyebrows and rolling them towards the priest. If the situation were not so dire, she might have found it incredibly amusing. As things were, with her dread mounting, she had very little idea what he meant.

Giving up, he began, "We… urm… seem to have encountered a problem." Teach's brow lifted as he pinned Captain Rackham with a cold stare. While clearly uncomfortable, Abigail could not help the respect she felt when he continued in the face of the pirate lord's withering gaze. "The lady requested an audience with the priest to make a confession and seek his advice."

Abigail shifted on her feet, quite ready to bolt at the slightest justification. Where she would run, or how far she would get, she knew not. But she felt the need quite keenly.

"Whatever it is, it can wait," Teach said, impatience lacing his tone.

"Unfortunately this cannot wait," Jack continued all haste and no tact. "She is already married, you see, and entering into another marriage would neither serve your purpose, nor further your agenda. There. It is said."

Perhaps it might have suited Abigail better if Mister Teach had exploded in a fit of rage. It felt as though all the blood in her body raced towards her head, causing an intense kaleidoscopic roar in her ears.

"What?" Edward Teach turned slowly, thoughtfully, menacingly towards her.

" _Miss_ Ashe is indeed a _missus_." Captain Rackham ended his statement as if he imparted some tremendous jest, his laughter dying down awkwardly as he cowered beside Anne.

Abigail licked her lips. She was a missus. Married. _I am a missus_. Dear God. Her voice trembling, she confessed. "I am sorry Mister Teach. It's just that… I was unsure of whether to declare my marriage for fear that you might… and… I thought it prudent to ask a man of god how to manage my circumstance." Her heart in her throat she said, "I am married, Mister Teach. And the priest has informed that while I remain another man's wife, I cannot take another."

"You lie. You _will_ marry us." Teach's words were immediate and aimed at the priest who cringed, sweat glistening his features.

"I…" he stammered a few times, probably as terrified as she was. "As God is my witness, I cannot marry her to you if she is already tied to another, even if I wished to do so. My oath does not allow for it, no matter how much I may fear for my life as a consequence." The speech, while admirable, was nothing more than a terrified squeak. What made the conviction believable however, was that he spoke the truth. She _was_ married to another and performing the ceremony _would_ be ungodly.

"Who?" He was angry, his fists balled as he looked to her for an answer. Her eyes darted to Captain Rackham, but he simply shrugged, having done as much as he could she surmised.

But outside however, a commotion erupted.

"Captain! _Captain!"_ Teach immediately responded, pushing the gauze covering the entrance aside. In unison, all parties stepped into the sun, onto the beach and listened as a young boy imparted his news.

"Captain Flint's approaching the beach! And he 'aint alone."

Teach looked at Abigail. "Remain here." To Rackham he ordered, "Stay with her. If anyone attempts to take her, shoot them."

Watching him stride across the sand, Abigail felt such relief she could have sunk to her knees.

"Thank you," she said to Captain Rackham and Anne, the latter had remained silent throughout the entire exchange.

"Don't thank us yet, darling," Jack said as he peered across the sand. "The last time Flint was on this beach, he barely escaped with his life. And Charles Vane, the person who helped secure his freedom, is no longer alive to offer a similar kind of assistance."

"If he's come, he won't leave the island w'out her." Anne looked to the sea. "The Walrus's just outside the bay. He won't 'ave come alone."

"No, he wouldn't have. But by now Billy should have rejoined him. Let's pray your newly minted husband does his part. Or we're all fucked – again."

Abigail had never been closer to cursing in her entire life. _What an incredible mess._

* * *

The beach had erupted into chaos, making it decidedly simple for Billy to effortlessly intercept Flint, Max, Silver and several members of the crew as they waded onto the beach. Striding into the surf, he slowed them as they trekked towards the shore.

"Where is she? Is she alive?" Max was the first to enquire, her eyes worried.

"She's fine." Billy amended. "At least, she's alive."

"Are they married?" Flint asked, striding beside Billy.

"Not exactly."

"Either they are, or they aren't. Which is it?"

Billy felt his face flush and cursed, realising the admission he must make embarrassed him. Not because he was ashamed, but because he felt as if his feelings for her were so transparent, they were written across every part of his being. Billy looked at no one as he murmured. " _I_ married her."

Flint, Silver and Max, in an unprecedented, unplanned, yet coordinated effort, stopped in their tracks, the shallow waves lapping at their booted calves.

"Jesus Christ. _You did what?_ " Despite having only one leg and struggling to keep up, Silver's exclamation reverberated across the cove.

"Don't think they heard you in Nassau, mate." Feeling defensive, Billy growled, "It was Rackham's fucking idea. I don't rightly know how it all happened. The priest was there, we needed to stop Teach from pursuing her and the next thing I know I've a wife."

"Generally these things happen when you both say the vows," Max pointed out calmly, making her accent unusually crisp. Billy only aimed a sharp look in her direction and continued walking, prompting them to do the same.

"Is congratulations in order?" Silver grinned, having recovered his good humour instantly. In that moment, Billy hated him.

"Does he know its you?" Flint demanded. They were now on the beach. Time was of the essence.

"Unless Abigail told him, my guess is no."

"Monsieur Protector, Milly is going to kill you," Max offered.

"Not the time, but thank you for the fucking reminder." In the distance, a table was being fashioned on the beach with four chairs placed beside it. Billy snapped into focus. "He knows we're here."

"Wait a minute. What's the fucking plan?" Silver demanded.

"It's simple really." Billy waited a beat before declaring, "I'm here for my wife."

* * *

Flint eyed his opponent speculatively as they sat across from each other in the scorching sun. He fucking hated Edward Teach. And the feeling was entirely mutual. He knew it. Teach knew it. But for now, for Nassau, they needed each other. What he also needed was Abigail. He fucking hoped he wouldn't have to lift a fucking sword to get her.

"As I sit across from you, I cannot help but feel like we've treading across old ground."

Flint acknowledged the point. "Although this time, Charles Vane is absent from our midst." As expected, Teach stiffened, his eyes going hard.

"You're on my island – again. What do you want?"

"You took something that belongs to a member of my crew." Before he could elaborate however, Billy pushed forward, prompting Silver to try and hold him back. It wasn't easy.

"I've come for my fucking wife! If you've harmed her, I swear to God, there'll be nothing left of you for any animal - on land or at sea - to feast upon."

Flint cursed beneath his breath, but Silver said the words loud enough for all of them. _"Christ, Billy!"_

The outcome here would be simple, Flint knew. If he let Billy loose, he would end up fighting Teach and getting himself killed. Right now, he still needed his First Mate. And judging from his actions, so did his new wife. Wife. _Jesus_.

"Newlywed," Flint said to Teach. "Pardon his zealous reaction."

" _Sit_. The. Fuck. _Down_." Silver threatened and Flint nodded his approval. With great reluctance, Billy sat. But everyone knew he would not be still for long.

To a man nearby, Teach ordered, "Bring her." Within minutes, Abigail came into view. From his vantage, she looked unharmed and Flint felt uncharacteristically relieved. What he _did_ notice was that the gown she wore was too small and too tight, leaving her looking vulnerable and out of place. _Jesus_. Like a prudish relative, he felt the need to drape a covering over her. Their eyes met briefly before she looked at Billy and never looked away. He raised a ginger brow at Teach. Surely their connection was self evident.

Teach addressed her. "You say you're married?"

"I am."

"Point him out."

Without hesitating, Abigail pointed to Billy who was already standing. Silver stood too, prepared to attempt holding him back if necessary. _Christ_. Billy, Flint noted, looked ready to maim any man who stood between him and the girl.

"You've taken the wife of a member of my crew by force and held her captive. Despite the circumstances, we came only to take her back. Give us the girl and we'll leave," Flint posited.

"Captain Fucking Flint, always getting what he wants," Teach countered. Flint's eyes narrowed. The niceties were over.

"Billy, get your wife," Flint ordered. Without a moment's hesitation, and despite the fact that numerous men on Teach's crew drew their weapons, Billy reached for Abigail and securely pressed her behind him. Teach remained seated, his stare cold. They both knew he could not risk mutiny. There was no guarantee he would win.

"I welcome you back on the Walrus to strategise about how else we might compromise the British stronghold over Nassau. But if you ever again make an attempt to willfully disrespect me or my crew, I will ensure that we finish what we started here." Flint rose, Max and Silver at his side. "Charles Vane is no longer here to protect either you or me from ourselves. If we face each other again, one of us will die. Are you ready for that to be you?"

Behind them, Silver stepped forward. "Urm, I hate to draw these fine negotiations to a close, but we've got a fucking problem."

* * *

Two British ships were entering the bay and even from a distance, it was easy to spot their guns. Teach roared. "You led the British here?"

Abigail, her hand fisted onto the back of Billy's shirt, watched the interplay with fascination. With deceptive and deliberate calm, Flint nodded his head in her direction as he responded, "Missus Manderly is a British citizen in good standing." _Missus Manderly_.

She felt Billy tense beside her and they briefly locked eyes when he gazed back to look at her. Amidst eminent danger, she felt a frisson of awareness shimmy through her. His gaze was protective and _possessive_.

Flint continued. "We had an agreement with Rogers. We have a weeklong ceasefire. I knew nothing about this."

Max stepped forward and made herself heard. "Those ships do not belong to the Governor. He would not have altered his word. I do know that there are British patrols off the coast of Carolina. If any of you are captured, you will be taken back to England to hang or killed where you stand."

Flint called, "Let's move out!"

Billy reached for her hand and it seemed for just a moment in time, the world stopped spinning. He uttered no words, but his eyes seemed to want to reassure her. If he wanted to set her at ease, he failed. His apprehension was evident in the set of his shoulders, the deep creases across his forehead and the ferocity with which he clasped her hand.

"You must leave us," Max said to Billy, stepping beside Abigail. "I have the ear of the Governor and she is a citizen of the crown. Your chances of escape increase without us."

Her heart sank, but she recognised the truth. _He_ would have to leave her. And she would have to have the strength to let him go. "Max is right. I cannot swim that far, that fast. Go."

"Not a fucking chance," he growled, keeping her hand firmly in his. Abigail would have been a complete liar if she said that his admission did not please her. "I'm not leaving her." Billy stood firm, his shoulders set and square.

Flint merely raised a brow but Max attempted one final time, reiterating, "I am a pardoned citizen working for the Governor. She is British and has been brought here against her will. We will be fine. Your chances could go either way."

"You will not stand and fight?" Teach demanded, catching their attention.

"We're caught with our fucking breeches at our ankles. We fight, we _will_ die," Flint said.

"I'll not run like a coward in the face of a British attack on _my_ island!"

"We are not prepared, neither are the men, women and children. You want a full-scale war, you try and fight with no provisions and no crew to support. Everyone will be slaughtered and this bay will run crimson with their blood. We're already fighting a war in Nassau. I cannot sacrifice my men."

 _Now he cares about the women and children?_ Abigail mused.

To his quartermaster, Flint beckoned. "Silver."

"I'm not leaving." Billy reiterated.

Flint took a moment paused beside them. Something passed between them, something she did not understand. "I know."

Abigail looked out to the ships and then back. Across the beach, Captain Rackham and Anne were fleeing with the crew of the Walrus. If he stayed, he could be killed. She could not live with that possibility.

"Billy-" Abigail began, but Flint shook his head.

"Take care of her," he said to Billy, nodding towards Abigail before striding away.

"Good luck, mate," Silver said, clapping Billy on the arm in passing. Across the bay, a canon fired.

"We must go," Max said.

Billy nodded. "I've a plan."

* * *

 _22 November, 1718_

 _My name is Abigail Ashe – Abigail Manderly – and I find that the only way I am able to make sense of everything I have endured is to write some part of it in this journal. The events seem surreal, even committing them to these pages seem the work of fantasy. But it is my reality. And in order to move past the horror, I must face it bravely and deliberately. The sun has set as I begin the laborious task of documenting my experiences. It seems implausible that it is only hours since the events that I will describe here. It has left me changed. It has left so many of us, changed forever._

 _After Captain Flint and his crew fled from the island, Max, Billy and I made for the hut on the beach. The island was now in chaos, people fleeing in differing directions, preparing for battle with sword in one hand and rum in the other, swaying unsteadily upon their feet. The only chance we would have of ensuring our survival was to prove to the British that we were no threat. In order to do so, Billy tied and gagged first Max, then I, before attempting to do the same._ "It'll be alright," _he had whispered, his beautiful eyes boring into me, willing me to trust and believe in him. In that moment I did, and would have followed him to the ends of the earth if it were possible. I clung to his words as a promise that could not be broken. From our position, bound to what had once served as a ships mast; we had no vantage to see what transpired on the beach. But we could hear it all… every gunshot, the explosion of every grenade. If I close my eyes, I can still hear the screams of women and men as they tried to outrun the barrage of violence that reigned down upon them._

 _Huddled beside me, I pressed myself close to him, his solid presence a cold comfort. Gagged, we were unable to communicate with words, but he would press his face against mine and try to stem the ever-flowing steam of tears I could not seem to stem. Beside us, Max sat quietly, but with great dignity. Sadly, I knew instinctively this was not the first time she had witnessed or experienced such a siege. The knowledge made every part of my soul ache._

 _What happened in less than an hour, felt like mere minutes. An experienced Englishman, Lieutenant Robert Maynard, had been ordered by the crown to specifically track the movements of Captain Edward Teach. Unbeknownst to Mister Teach, he and his crew had been watched for months as they set sail from, and returned to, Ocracoke Island. Captain Flint's presence however, could not have been predicted. In fact, the Lieutenant tells me it was indeed a stroke of luck to see the Walrus in the bay. Fortunately, Captain Flint and his crew were able to escape. The purpose had been to detain Mister Teach. In Captain Flint's favour, the orders to capture Mister Teach were a priority._

 _Because of merriment and Captain Flint's timely arrival on the island, the usual lookouts were not where they ought to have been, or as vigilant. Just after daybreak as we met on the beach to negotiate my release, Lieutenant Maynard's two sloops –_ The Ranger _and_ Jane _\- entered the bay. This was what Mister Silver had spotted from his vantage on the beach. While people fled in all directions, some of the crew, under Mister Teach's leadership, made an attempt to mount a defence. Caught unprepared, I am told that the tactics from the pirates were uncoordinated and sorely ineffective. The broadside of Mister Teach's ship,_ Adventure _, was wrecked after the first barrage of gunfire. Still, I believe he ordered his fledgling crew to continue to wage an assault and did not stop trying to outwit his opponents, even when it seemed like all was lost._

 _Lieutenant Maynard described boarding the Adventure, and made some attempt to lessen the graphic nature of what he encountered – for my_ 'sensibilities' _, he said. But his words were only fuel to my imagination and it became quite effortless to see the deck, slick with the blood of fallen men, their corpses, still and lifeless, chunks of their flesh, their limbs, absent due to the impact with artillery._

 _Staging a final attack, Mister Teach and what remained of his crew had burst forth from the hold, hurling grenades and firing whatever ammunition they had left. I believe I detected a note of admiration in Lieutenant Maynard's countenance as he regaled the final moments of the battle. Pirate and naval officer battled across the deck of Adventure until superior training and a slight advantage in numbers allowed the British navy to surround Mister Teach who by now, was alone, encircled and badly wounded._

Abigail paused for a moment, massaging her hand. As she wrote, her heartbeat hammered in her chest, reliving the entire experience as if she were there, witnessing it, and not recounting it from someone else's vantage. Dipping her quill into the inkwell, she continued, aware of the tears that fell across the page, smudging some of the words.

 _While I understand the great pride with which Lieutenant Maynard narrated how he faced Mister Teach, I could not rally any sentiment besides sorrow for the death of so many. Mister Teach and the Lieutenant had fired their flintlocks at each other before engaging in hand-to-hand combat. With his cutlass, the pirate lord had managed a slight reprieve when he shattered the Lieutenant's sword. But it seemed the British navy had had enough. I am to understand that the men who stood and watched the encounter now stepped forward and each slashed Mister Teach in turn. His neck, his chest, his arm, his back – he was now mortally wounded and fundamentally incapacitated._

 _I am keenly aware of the capacity Mister Teach had for violence. He was fearsome and cruel. And yet, I cannot deny that such a death, to be hacked and slashed as an animal, seemed cruel, even for one such as he. Max tells me it is my sensibilities and that soon, as a resident of Nassau, these things will become less upsetting. I wonder whether this is what I desire… to become so numb to horrors that should never become natural or comfortable. I think it should always shock, a reminder that violence ought to be a last resort and not the way of life._

 _My father was never a violent man. And yet he had met a violent end. Captain Flint has proven the ease with which violence becomes him. And yet I would not see him ended the way Captain Teach has been. The very thought that any of the people I have come to know could be so treated produces inside of me a type of empathic passion. We all want to survive. Why can we not live in peace?_

 _For my part, the difficulties between my new husband and I seem almost irrelevant in the wake of such devastation._ My new husband. _It seems so foreign to think it. And yet as I review the words I have just written, the reality of being a married woman is undeniable. I am wed. I belong to someone. And only here, in the privacy of my own thoughts, might I admit that there is a part of me that is deeply thrilled to be_ his _. But he did not want this. Neither should I._

Abigail bit her lip and reviewed her words. _Neither should I._ Finally she sighed, quite defeated. She signed her name and put down her quill, then stood and stretched. She walked to the balcony of the hut and watched the ordered chaos down below. It was now almost a week since Mister Teach had been killed. Initially, his severed head had been suspended from the bowsprit of the Ranger, as a warning to everyone on the consequences of piracy. To Abigail, the display was grotesque and wildly upsetting.

Bound and gagged was how the British navy had found them. Convincing them that Billy was an ally had taken some work, but eventually the Lieutenant had conceded, knowing perhaps that in the grander scheme of things, he had just accomplished the biggest victory of his career.

Two days after the slaughter in the bay, another ship arrived in the inlet. At its helm was Captain Hargrove and because of the tensions on the island, she was quite happy to see his familiar face. Governor Rogers, with an anonymous missive – no doubt from Captain Flint, Max surmised - had sent the British vessel to discuss strategy with Lieutenant Maynard and Max, as well as see them back to Nassau once their discussions were concluded. Despite his evident reservations about Billy, Benjamin vouched for their fealty and reiterated his promise to provide them with safe passage to Nassau.

 _Home_.

Abigail pondered the word. She had been searching so desperately for a place to call by the name. But the longer she stayed, she more confused she remained. This world was violent, harsh and sometimes cruel. But it was also a community that cared, people who loved and made the best of the lives they were born into.

On the beach she was able to recognize Captain Hargrove as he instructed some of the locals about their work to replenish his ship in time for their 3-day voyage to Nassau. But in truth, Benjamin was not who her eyes sought. Billy had been separated from the women initially, but after Benjamin's arrival, he had been released and assisted with the repair and readiness of the ship. At least, this is what she heard from Max. They had had no opportunity to talk since the day of the siege and with every passing day, the yearning to simply _see_ him became more and more intense.

With a frown, she bit her lip and reflected… They had fought, been separated, had briefly reunited for their wedding, had been separated again, sought comfort in each other's presence and then… well _nothing_ at all. Whether he avoided her or not was unclear. But she knew _not_ seeing him, even in passing, seemed too deliberate to be accidental.

 _But he had stayed to protect her._ Surely it meant something? Did it not?

She hated herself for it, but the knowledge that he would sacrifice himself for her touched her. _Deeply_. Abigail shook her head, utterly confused about her feelings. She should be livid, like she had been the day Mister Teach had taken her from the Walrus. And yet after everything they had experienced, it felt a pointless emotion. Towards Captain Flint, she felt as ambivalent. He had been responsible for so much death. And yet she had known this, had she not? Had he not always professed to be a killer? _She hated him for turning out to be exactly what he had warned her he was._ She frowned.

Turning from the beach, Abigail made for the makeshift infirmary and vowed to devote her time to more productive pursuits. The only thing she was able to do in the past few days was assist with those who were injured and needed care before their departure. She had some skill because of her work in Nassau, so determined, she put it to use here as well. Putting thoughts of violence, Captain Flint and her absent husband aside, Abigail focused on work.

* * *

"I'm sorry m'am. But there is nothing more to be done for the lad."

Her hands still bloody, Abigail stepped back from the table and tried hard to get control of her emotions. For twenty minutes she had worked beside the surgeon, trying to stem the flow of bleeding, holding the hand of the little boy as he screamed in pain, telling him that he would be all right. It had been a lie. He would _not_ be all right. _He was dead._ A victim of an errant shot from a pistol, the child was brought to the surgeon while Abigail was assisting with bandages.

As she look at the boy, time slowed, blurred, delayed. _Another senseless death_. The surgeon, Mister Dunkett, pulled the bloody sheet across the little boys face, outlining the shape of the tiny, lifeless corpse beneath it. She felt she ought to irrationally protest his action, her hand covering her mouth in horror. He was so small, a child, an innocent who did not deserve death, at least, not so prematurely. At her back she heard her name a second before a hand gently, almost imperceptibly, touched her waist. Tears blurred her vision completely until the only thing she saw was a myriad of fluid shadows which blended into one.

 _Billy._

She turned, immediately burrowing into his arms. It did not matter that she had not seen him in days. It did not matter that they were married and yet spoke nothing of it. It did not matter that between them lay misunderstandings and complications. Her face pressed into his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist and she crowded into the strength of the only person she really wanted to be with. When Billy's arms closed around her, enveloping her cold form with the heat from his, she felt she could breathe for the first time in almost a week.

Her frame heaved gently as her grief ravaged her soul. That this tiny boy, a child she did not know, would inspire such sorrow was a surprise to everyone present. But later, Abigail would realise that while she had shed tears for the loss of her parents, she had not had time to grieve them.

"It's alright," Billy whispered, his large hands gently stroking her back in light, comforting circles. That this giant of a man, _her_ _husband_ , could be equal parts gentle rogue, no longer surprised her.

"He was just a little boy," she whispered with a mortified hiccup.

"He was brave. And you helped him find peace." His voice was soft, an angels whisper in her ear. Then he simply held her, his hands soothing her, calming her until all her tears had been purged. When Abigail eventually raised her head, she had long since stopped crying, but had almost been lulled to sleep. The room was now empty of anyone but them. When the surgeon had left, she had no idea. But the sight of a woman's tears usually had the effect of clearing a room.

The little boy's body still lay prostrate, but the windows were open, a gentle breeze blowing through the tiny room, bringing with it the sounds of life from outside. _Time did not stop_ , she reminded herself. _Life happened_.

Staring directly at the middle of Billy's chest, she noticed that his green shirt was soaked. As if someone had thrown a tankard of ale at him, a large circle of moisture radiated outwards from where her face had rested on his torso.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her face red, her cheeks still carrying the evidence of her tears. He shook his head in silent denial, silencing further appeal. "I ruined it." Her hands brushed the shirt, fidgeting with the tiny fastenings down the centre. A triangle of skin was bared to her gaze and she lowered it, focusing on the round button instead.

"I've plenty just like it." His smile was boyish and charming and the sight of it lifted her heart. His one arm remained anchored at her waist but with the other, he raised her chin, his thumb swiping at the traces of moisture not absorbed by his shirt.

"Are you alright?"

She felt her lips tremble but clasped them tightly. "I will be…" _Now you are here._

His eyes were piercing as he assessed her, weighing it seemed, the truth of her words. His frown tarnished the perfection of his face, and so Abigail wasn't sure who she did it for - herself, or to allay his fears. She reached up onto her toes, placed her hands on his shoulders and tugged until he bent forward enough to place him within range of her mouth. Very gently, she pressed her lips to his cheek in the softest kiss.

She felt his arms tighten on her waist as her lips lingered, keeping him close. His face, pressed against her own, turned slightly so that he may place his own lips to her ear. She sighed into him.

"Abigail." A throat cleared. "Pardon the interruption. The boy's body needs to be moved."

They turned simultaneously to see Captain Hargrove with his furrowed brow and disapproving glare. Billy made to release her but Abigail took another moment, holding him close.

"We should talk…." Their eyes locked, his now unreadable and she felt anxious about the walls he seemed to erect so easily.

"I know." His eyes swept across her face for only a moment before he nodded curtly and stepped back.

With a hard look at Hargrove, Billy disappeared.


	10. X

The quiet that settled around them was deafening. The sounds of life she had just heard filtering into the room from outside seemed to wane, leaving her smothered by the uncomfortable tension. Captain Hargrove broke the silence first. His words were stilted and his tone a little detached.

"Miss Ashe – Abigail – I understand that the past few days must have been harrowing for you, and I am quite sorry that you were forced to endure it."

"Thank you, Benjamin."

"However… I feel it is my duty to speak plainly when I witness something that might cause you harm."

Abigail knew where this was going and that he was simply trying to be helpful. At present however, current fortitude did not encompass listening to what would ultimately amount to a litany of Billy's villainous characteristics.

Captain Hargrove continued. "We agreed to be friends, did we not? And as such, I would not see you open yourself to ridicule."

He came to stand beside her and Abigail moved to the window. She felt the walls enclose, the fresh air in short supply and longed to be anywhere but in this room, under these circumstances.

"Ridicule?" She felt resigned at his insinuation.

"It is fortunate that I was the one who entered just now. Such a display of intimacy between you and a known criminal would cause irreparable damage to your reputation." He spoke kindly and perhaps if he had attempted to be high handed, she might have taken offence.

He was right of course. In her world, at least the one she had vacated, any association with Billy would tarnish her good name. But she was already ruined. So _continued_ association would more likely be the cause for gossip, not being ruined. She could not be _more_ ruined than she already was.

Abigail felt her temples throb, wary, emotionally spent and in no mood to try and justify her behaviour to someone who would never understand it. But the conversation itself was one she would have to have.

"Benjamin, would you mind if we took a walk down the beach? I need some fresh air and I would prefer not to have this conversation with so many around us who might… catch wind of it and compromise my good reputation as you just asserted." Of course she was being a little bad-tempered, but could not muster genuine contrition.

He seemed surprised by her request, but also pleased. "Of course. After you."

"If you would give me a moment," she gestured to her bloody apron and her hands, "I shall meet you on the beach out front."

He nodded, bowing formally before leaving the room. She breathed a sigh of relief and efficiently took care of the necessary ablutions. A few minutes later, she emerged onto the beach and into the glorious sun.

Hargrove was a handsome sight, she acknowledged, standing in the light. Broad shouldered in his official red uniform, he looked dashing, dignified and perhaps, every young woman's ideal. In truth, Benjamin had proven himself a friend. While he had no apparent love for any of her pirate acquaintances, what position was not unwarranted, nor unexpected, she conceded. He was a product of his experiences. Just as she was.

Joining him, he signaled a direction to walk in and they made their way down the beach, walking at a leisurely pace and in companionable silence for a while. Abigail appreciated the momentary reprieve, basking in the healing power of the sun and the soothing balm of the gentle breeze. Outside, the sounds were loud again; men called orders to others, children play in the surf or chased each other across the sand. In many ways, the devastation of days past was only recognizable by the overt presence of the soldiers interspersed to watch for any signs of mutiny.

"I acknowledge that our acquaintance has been brief, but I hope you find my sentiment sincere when I say that I would not see you taken advantage of."

"Your sentiment is appreciated, truly, but I am not your responsibility."

"Do friends not care for each other?" He had her there and she smiled kindly. "Then you cannot instruct me not to care about your welfare."

"And you suspect that Mister Manderly is a threat to my wellbeing?" To his credit, he looked uncomfortable at her direct segueway into the real reason for their stroll across the beach.

"With your permission, Abigail, I would like to be candid?"

"Please."

"He is a pirate."

Abigail laughed. "Yes. Yes he is. I am afraid you state the obvious."

"The very title is an indictment on his character," he said fervidly.

"In London yes. But here, in his home, he is also many other things. He is a man, a friend, a member of his crew. He works hard and is loyal."

"Is there no end to his virtues?" he murmured, but Abigail ignored him.

"He has been kind to me. And he has partaken in the rescue effort to ensure no harm has befallen my person."

"And we are all grateful to him for it. But you… what I witnessed…" Abigail looked to him and noticed the colour mounting in his cheeks. She decided to let him muddle through his feelings. If he had something to say, then she would not assist him in saying it.

"Your overt familiarity with him… concerns."

 _Overt familiarity._ The irony did not escape her. Billy was her husband. What Benjamin witnessed was the least offensive act they could have been caught in. Her cheeks warmed at the thought and she refocused on the matter at hand.

"My reputation is of no consequence in London. I have already been slated as ruined. So whom I now choose to consort with is a choice I make freely. Mister Manderly has been a friend Benjamin, to me and to Millicent. I am truly grateful for the courtesy he has shown us." Her heart broke a little. "But that is all there is between us." _Except for the fact that they were married._

"The ton have the propensity to hate things they secretly wish to experience themselves. Forgive me, but hang the lot of them."

Abigail laughed. "I agree." _So would Billy_ , she thought. Although he had used more colourful terms.

"I am glad to hear it." He ceased walking, halting her forward propulsion with a gentle hand to her elbow. They stood a moment and both looked at the sea. Overhead, white clouds were embossed upon the sky, sailing slowly towards their destination.

Amidst the sound of the crashing waves, he said, "I was hoping that when things settled, that you would allow me to court you."

 _Oh dear._ "Benjamin…"

"I am not asking for a commitment. I am merely asking for the opportunity to get to know each other. Unless, you have already formed an opinion of me that prohibits any further pleasantries between us."

"No, of course not. I like you, very much. And you are correct that we do not know each other very well."

"A situation we are able to remedy." His green eyes were hopeful and she felt regretful that her feelings did not extend beyond friendship. "Have dinner with me." Abigail began to protest. "Tomorrow night," he continued, all charm. "If after a few hours in my company you have no wish to see me ever again, I will graciously acquiesce and admit defeat."

Abigail laughed, the breeze carrying the sound down the beach. His smile was infectious and she was unable to deny his charm. Laughter felt good, as though she released some of the tension the past week had induced.

"I doubt there is anything _so_ questionable that I would banish you from my sight. Unless you have yet to reveal some disastrous secret?" Her eyes narrowed speculatively, amused.

"Is that a yes?"

"I should say no."

It was definitely _not_ a good idea. Her life was complicated enough. But his charming smile and easy manner made it impossible. She _liked_ him. She may not be looking for romance, but she did consider him a friend.

He took her hand, pressed his lips to her knuckles lightly and swept into a bow. Amused and mortified in equal measures, Abigail blushed. Looking around, she caught a few curious stares.

"Benjamin please, you're causing a spectacle."

"I refuse to rise until you say yes." His words were alight with good humour.

She bit her lip and he only sank lower, the gesture more grand. Oh God. "Yes! Alright. I'll agree to _one_ dinner."

"One is all I need." He winked at her in amusement and she rolled her eyes.

"It means nothing," she reinforced and they began their journey back. The Captain extended his arm in assistance and after a moment's hesitation, Abigail took it gratefully.

"Everything that eventually means something began as nothing."

She shook her head at him. "How astute." He was incorrigible.

"How _true_."

* * *

Billy felt his insides twist every time he heard her amusement filter up from the beach. The breeze was cruelly efficient as it delivered her laughter to him in what seemed like deliberate bouts of torture. With a hammer in hand, he pounded nails into a piece of decking he was repairing. He was working on the opposite side of the beach, but he had seen them walk the coastline together. He'd turned his back to avoid the temptation to stare after her like a fucking fool. But then her laughter carried towards him. _Fuck_. He needed to get back to Nassau and away from _her_.

"If you continue to hammer at that piece of wood, there will be nothing left of it to carry onboard the ship."

In an uncharacteristic display of frustration, Billy flung the hammer across the sand where it landed with a dull thud. Max raised a brow before collecting the implement and handing it back to him. She chose a seat close to where he worked and said, "So, you are a married man."

"Apparently." He reached for another piece of wood and began the process of removing old nails from it. His movements were fast, efficient, but clearly harassed.

"Have you two spoken about what you will do?"

"Do? It seems obvious. I married her to stop her from marrying a fucking madman. This marriage is not real."

"So you have _not_ spoken then."

He swore. "I'm sure she'll want an annulment as soon as we reach Nassau. After that, we can all go back to what is important. Flint's bloody war."

"You see it as that simple? You just return to Nassau, find some priest to rule the ceremony annulled and return to this war?"

His chest contracted. _Of course it was more complicated than that._ She was all he could bloody think about. Her luminous eyes, the dark, silken strands of her hair framing her heart-shaped face. In his dreams he experienced her touch, soft, sweet and incredibly vivid. He could feel her breath on his face, her gasp as their lips met and their bodies joined together. He was jarred from his thoughts by her laughter drifting towards him from the beach and his jaw tightened.

"I don't rightly care either way, seeing as we didn't sign a damned thing. But I suspect its what she might want. Make this chapter of her life officially over. No comebacks. No claims."

Max frowned. "You do her character a disservice. You do not describe the behavior of the woman we both know. She is not so callous, nor as cynical."

He knew she was right. But he felt so out of his depth, so _jealous_ , that he didn't care.

"What do you want?" Max asked.

Billy scoffed. "She once asked me the same thing." The truth was, he was afraid to give it voice. He was afraid to even give the desire a playground within the recesses of his mind. So he kept working at his daily tasks, willing his mind to stop conjuring pictures of her face, willing his subconscious to cease whispering words like a home, a wife, _mine_.

"Then I shall ask you too. Billy, what do _you_ want?"

He felt a roar build up inside of him and ceased the pretense of work. His eyes found her with Hargrove, laughing as they stood together down the beach. The bastard was bowing low, his lips to her, _touching_ her. He wanted to run his blade through him.

"How the fuck do I even compete with that?!"

Max did not even look to what or whom he referred. "You do not try. You will never be a British naval officer. I do not think being one would make you more appropriate in her eyes."

"I'm a fucking pirate. I have nothing to offer her. Not a home. Not a fucking income. I have no family to speak of, no real affiliation to god. No _prospects_. Nothing. She is too innocent and too bloody good." Under his breath he whispered savagely, "This is madness!"

"From my observations, Abigail can take care of herself. She does not need a man to provide shelter, nor an income – legitimate or otherwise."

Billy frowned. "So you would have me take from her? Be known as some pirate fortune hunter?"

"I would have you realise that she wants love. She wants someone who will take care of her – not financially – because she has the means to ensure that without anyone. But she wants a partner to build a life with. She wants a home that she can share. _A family_."

"All the things I know nothing about."

"You could learn." He rolled his eyes, but her words settled somewhere inside him. "Talk to your wife, Monsieur Protector. Talk to her before you make any decisions about what you assume she wants." Max rose to leave. "Or does not want."

* * *

The hours to their departure drew near. In the morning, they would set sail for Nassau and this nightmare would be over – _until the next_ , she mused. It was an hour or two before sunset when Abigail set off down the beach, determined to find Billy. They needed to talk and she refused to let things simply smolder without any indication of how he felt. Lifting her skirts, she squinted into the distance and her breath caught in her throat.

"Oh my," she breathed, frozen in place as she watched what could only be described as a remarkable demonstration of raw masculine capability. The crew of Captain Hargrove's ship were all lined up, thick ropes passing through their hands on unison as they hauled cargo closer to the shoreline. At the instruction of the ships Quartermaster, who yelled _'heave, heave, heave lads'_ intermittently, they pulled at the ropes in perfect synchronicity. It really was a beautiful sight, especially since the sun had begun its decent, casting their profiles aglow. In that moment, the world seemed peaceful, no evidence of war or bloodshed.

But her eyes fell to the reason her breath stuttered. Easing forward, she shamelessly sought a better look, and all but fell onto a nearby bench. _Oh my._ Billy, at the head of the pack, pulled at the ropes with what looked like great ease. He worked shirtless, but the contraction and expansion of his muscles contradicted the ease of the task. His torso was perfectly smooth, the hard muscled planes tanned and shimmering with sweat at the physical exertion. She bit her lip, really quite overwhelmed by the sight of him. _He was beautiful_ , she thought.

His discarded shirt was wrapped upon his head in the way the Bedouin might do to ward off the sun. In only trousers and leather cuffs at his wrist, she did not believe she had ever seen any man look as sinfully handsome. But she was not the only one who noticed. Around the sailors were local women who shouted encouragement, their eyes greedily feasting on his specimen.

 _My_ husband _._ A flash of fierce jealousy arrested her. _Mine_. The feeling was spontaneous and completely unfamiliar. As her eyes moved from the women to him and back again, she felt the incredibly undignified urge to demand they avert their gazes immediately.

"Alright lads, another strong haul and it'll be done," Billy called. All the men heaved as the Quartermaster called his instruction a few more times. Abigail sat and continued to observe as the crew reached for tankards of water being passed around. She watched his easy smile as he laughed with the other men as they drank deeply, her lips curving unconsciously in response. But her stare did not go unnoticed and eventually, one of the crew prodded Billy and gestured in her direction.

Abigail bloomed with embarrassment when he turned and saw her observing him. As an automatic response, she smiled awkwardly. Turning to the men, he said something before walking up the beach towards her. She tried to lower her gaze, but it was almost impossible. Up close, she could see the sweat glistening on his skin; see the fine, nearly indiscernible golden hairs on his chest and arms and the perfectly symmetrical sculpture of his form.

She was surprised when he sat on the empty bench beside her, accepting another tankard of water from a passerby.

"Waiting for Hargrove?" he asked, squinting into the distance.

"No," she said softly. She could smell him, a mixture of sea, sweat and male. Her stomach did a little somersault at his nearness. "I was looking for you."

He failed to hide his surprise as incandescent blue eyes pinned her to her seat. Abigail met his gaze boldly, despite the heat in her cheeks. "I thought we might talk," she said.

"Talk." He smiled briefly. "Not a bad idea, considering."

Taking direction from him, she laughed lightly. "Yes, everything happened so quickly. How did you find me?"

He swallowed from the cup, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "After our…" he grimaced, "disagreement, I was arguing with Flint."

"Arguing?" _About me?_ she wanted to ask.

He nodded, removing the wrapped shirt from his head and using it to wipe the last of the sweat from his face. "We heard the chaos on deck when one of the crew reported that you'd been taken."

Billy paused and she watched the interplay of emotions on his profile. Anger and frustration yes, but there was something else as well. "Flint knew Teach would bring you here. So it was a simple matter of gaining the Governor's support to a ceasefire in order to rescue you." The elusive smile was back and Abigail realized how long it had been since she'd seen him smile.

"Rescue you say?"

His smile broadened. "Yes, m'am."

"Have you attempted many rescues in the past, Mister Manderly?" she teased, immediately regretting using his last name. He had told her many times that he did not prefer it. But he seemed not to notice and she relaxed.

"Some. Although this was the first time I had a vested interest." Blue eyes met hers and her heart leapt into her throat. He was so close, she could see the stubble on his cheeks, adding a roguish appeal to his handsome features.

"Vested interest in what?" she breathed. She longed to reach out and touch him. But it was impossible with them being out so publicly.

"You."

The single word was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. Abigail felt as though her heart were on her sleeve as she looked at him. Her cheeks were pink, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she tried to control the urge to launch herself at him.

"Thank you for this afternoon. It was hard, seeing that little boy fight so hard to stay alive."

"It's a consequence of war," Billy said, stated as a fact, but not flippantly.

"I know. I find myself thinking about my father. I think I might eventually have made peace with him." Her smile was hollow as Billy shifted closer to her. "I've been looking for the answer to whether my father could be both honourable in the service of his country and yet dishonorable in his conduct with his friends. I struggled with the dichotomy of it all. He helped so many people. I saw him give alms to those in need, build schools to educate the poor and treat those in his employ with more kindness than most of his peers would demonstrate. But he betrayed his best friends, the consequences of that single action rippling still… now, this moment, on this island, and later, when we return to Nassau and this war begins in earnest."

"What conclusion have you reached?"

"The one that has been right before my eyes the entire time. In fact, I've been using it when thinking about you."

He looked taken aback and curious. "Me?"

"You, just like Captain Flint and my father, all the people of this island and Nassau, have done bad things. Some of it was to ensure your survival, perhaps sometimes there might have been more sinister intent. But if actions speak louder than words, then I must accept that in action – good and bad – my father both succeeded and failed in equal measures. And therefore the sum of his character can be judged only by God. He was my father and I loved him. I cannot regret it."

The sun was setting fast now, casting long shadows all around them. Fires were started on the beach as people began to prepare their evening meal. The fading light created a cocoon in which they two existed alone.

Reaching for her, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Abigail closed her eyes and released a pent up breath.

"I don't remember much of my father," he whispered, clearing his throat. "Sometimes I wake up knowing I've dreamt his face, my mothers too, but its faded so quickly that I have no picture left that could be deemed accurate."

"Do you know if they are alive?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Its too late now."

"They will always be your family," she said softly. How she wished she could wrap her arms around him and offer him comfort. They moved apart slightly and sat in a companionable silence for a while before Billy spoke again.

"I owe you an explanation," he said. "For what happened with Flint."

"Its alright. I think I've come to understand the importance of duty. Or I'm trying," she said wryly. "Max does have a unique perspective." Sincerely, she said, "I know you were only doing your duty."

Billy leaned forward, his forearms braced on his knees. He looked at her and it felt as though they were the only two people on the beach. The sounds of industry as dinners were prepared, the disagreements, it all faded into the distance. "Flint and I do not agree on very many things. I don't trust him and I don't think he always has the best interests of his crew in mind when he takes decisions. He has proven himself to be selfish and determined to see his will done." Abigail nodded. She finally knew this as well as anyone else. "But the one thing I see and believe, is that for some inexplicable reason, he cares about you. And because I believed that, I needed to make sure that I reported your movements. It was done to protect you." He looked away. "Although I failed it seems."

"Billy-"

"I once told you I would never hurt you. I did. And I'm sorry."

Damning the consequences, she reached out a tentative hand and touched his shoulder. His skin was still warm, smooth and her mouth went dry at the contact. "I accept your apology. I know you meant well. But I would ask that you not forget that I am a person who can make my own decisions. I am no one's responsibility."

"You don't consider a wife a husband's responsibility? I do recall that priest saying something about honour and obey." The question came from nowhere, and despite the fact that he teased her, she felt utterly flustered by the statement. He chuckled, clearly enjoying her discomfiture before he continued.

"He lied you know." Abigail frowned. "About the explosion. He didn't do it. But he thought it an attempt to get you to finally see reason and leave Nassau."

"He wants me gone that badly?"

"Try not to be offended. Its Flint's twisted idea of being chivalrous." He grinned again and although she knew she ought to be angry, she just could not sustain it. Too much had happened to warrant it.

"It feels so long ago," she admitted. "So much has happened since I arrived in Nassau, since Captain Teach forced me aboard this ship…" Tentatively, she finished with, "since we married."

He smiled, his eyes warm as they locked on her lips. Abigail felt the area around her heart expand. She loved him. It was utterly impossible. But she did. She shifted closer.

"It ought to," he began.

"Feel strange?" she queried.

"Yes."

"Being married?"

"Yes."

"And yet," she breathed as he leaned towards her, their faces moving closer.

"Its feels…"

"So..."

"Very…" His mouth brushed hers as he breathed the words onto her lips.

 _Right_. Abigail never said the word because the Quartermaster called Billy's name. She blushed, his colour as high as they pulled apart and laughed. His chuckle was deep, the sound dark and delicious. Tentatively, he reached for her hand and she laced their fingers together. His palm was tough, sand clinging to his fingers. But she didn't mind.

"I've got to get back to work." He looked as reluctant as she was to see him go. _Would the world ever allow them to speak uninterrupted?_ His eyes darkened and she realized with great embarrassment that she had voiced her feelings aloud.

His fingers tightened and she placed her other hand over his as it rested upon her lap.

"We set sail tomorrow. I'll be busy most of the day, but once we're underway, the crew will see to most of the duties. I could take my evening break with you." Pleasure shot through her as she nodded enthusiastically. He grinned as she blushed, knowing she was overeager, but she did not care. But as her happiness soared, her grin began to fade.

"What is it?"

Oh damn. Benjamin. "Its just that… I've a prior engagement for dinner." She watched his forehead furrow into a deep frown and she squeezed his hand to keep it in place. "But we could meet after."

"Prior engagement? On the ship?" His jaw had tightened and with superior will, he gently, yet firmly, dislodged his hand from hers.

"Captain Hargrove requested that I have dinner with him tomorrow evening."

"I see."

"It's of no consequence." She felt her voice rise a little. "He is a friend."

"I don't believe that's what he wishes to stay," Billy muttered as he rose. She stood too, sorry that their perfect discourse was ruined by her own stupidity. She _knew_ she should have dissuaded Benjamin.

"Does he know we're married?" Billy asked. The question was asked casually, but she knew her response would not be taken lightly.

"He does not. But-"

"I see."

"Please. You do not _see_ anything." She became agitated and angry.

"Are you ashamed?"

" _No_ ," she said emphatically. "That is not the reason at all." She took a step towards him but he stepped back.

"He is certainly the appropriate choice."

"For what?" The Quartermaster called again. "Billy, I was protecting you."

"Protecting me?" He raised a skeptical brow. "By not telling the man who's clearly courting you that you've just married someone else? But not to worry. I know a priest in Nassau who will annul this marriage, clearing the fucking path for Hargrove." Abigail gasped. "Good evening, Miss Ashe."

"Its Missus Manderly," she called after him impulsively. _Dammit_. He stopped, his shoulders tensed, but continued walking after a tense second.

She was grateful he did not turn to look at her as he strode down the beach. Because if he had, he would have seen the abject tears of misery that filled her eyes. _Annulment?_ The thought had not even crossed her mind. Abigail realized she was the biggest fool to ever walk the earth. How could she not have considered this possibility? Had she just assumed they would remain married? That the vows, though hurried and uttered under duress, were still sacred and therefore they would find a way to make it work? _Annulment_.

Noticing that she was garnering some attention, Abigail turned and fled down the beach at a speed barely considered genteel.

She loved him. And he wanted to be rid of her.


	11. XI

The deck of the _Persephone_ was awash with a frenzied, but coordinated activity. The crew, capable and industrious, went about ensuring that the vessel glided through the waters with the utmost ease. Sitting beside Abigail at a small table on the quarterdeck, Max had the perfect view of the ships operations. While she poured over official documentation she'd been discussing with Captain Hargrove, Abigail, under the guise of reading a novel, was continuously glancing across the deck.

"Is your novel diverting?" Max asked as she placed a paperweight across some documents to keep it from fluttering in the breeze.

"Quite."

"One would not say so, going by the sheer amount of times your eyes have been everywhere _but_ upon its pages."

Even as she scowled Abigail's cheeks pinked. She seemed to decide against any further pretense and closed the book with a vicious snap. Max blinked, interested in what was proving to be quite a disgruntled display from the usually composed young woman.

The ship and its crew had departed from Ocracoke Island a few hours earlier with blue skies and crisp winds. Three days hence and they would enter the bay of Nassau and face the very real threat of war.

"I could not but observe that you failed to rest well last night," Max said. It had been hard to miss the way her companion seemed to seek and never find a comfortable disposition. In addition, her nocturnal bustle was accompanied by intermittent sighing, a mark of keen exasperation with either her own thoughts, or that of another.

"I apologise if I disturbed. It seems I had a lot on my mind."

"It _seems_ as though that circumstance is unchanged, yes?" Max gathered her papers and stowed them securely beneath another weight before offering Abigail her full attention.

Max patiently observed her struggle with how to articulate her thoughts until finally everything tumbled from her quite spectacularly. Abigail recited everything that had happened since the moment she'd laid eyes upon Billy, in what seemed to be one incredibly long diatribe. While Max hid it well, it was with great amusement that she watched Abigail blush her way through, documented her interactions with the stern former boatswain, their arguments, misunderstandings and now their very obvious battle of wills.

"He refuses to heed my very rational explanation as to why I did not inform Benjamin that we are wed, or why I accepted his dinner invitation," she finished on an outraged whisper, drawing a huge breath of air. Max had never seen her this agitated.

"Let us begin with why you accepted the Captain's invitation?"

"Because… because I…" Max raised a brow, daring her to be honest. "Because I was… not _thinking_ ," she said irritably. "He is kind and sweet and _oh dear_ I should have said no, shouldn't I?" she wailed.

"Let us now examine why you think Billy is being… unreasonable about your explanation?"

"Because he might interpret my consent as some sort of endorsement that I wish to be courted by the Captain? That explanation would be plausible only if I operate under the assumption that he feels something for me."

Max raised an eyebrow. "He threatened Jacob with a broken arm if he did not apologise to you after what happened in my tavern the first time you were there. He has been your silent champion from the moment you arrived on this island. He lead the charge to see you safely from Captain Teach." She paused, watching Abigail's emotions play across her face. "And he married you. I would say that there is some evidence to suggest that he feels something for you."

"He threatened that innocuous drunk?" She smiled, pleased. "Seems he is quite capable of chivalry." Abigail sighed. "I am an utter fool, am I not?"

"Not a fool. Simply too eager to please. However," Max cautioned, all too aware of how conducting ones behavior in accordance to the will of others was just another form of slavery. "Should you wish to spend an hour or two with the good Captain, you should be able to do so without being made to feel as if you are committing a sin."

Max watched as Abigail tried to make sense of her emotions, unable to remember a time when she was so innocent. Love and its glorious power had never been kind to her. The most important partners in her life had betrayed her trust or were unable to place the value of her affections above their own ambitions. So while her own experience with the emotion was abstract, or fleeting at best, she found the notion challenged as she watched the burgeoning feelings between Abigail and Billy sprout and struggle to grow.

"What do you hope for Abigail?"

"Hope for?"

"It is most obvious that you care for him, yes?" Abigail coloured, but nodded slowly, skeptical about where the conversation was going. "So you are over here, your head and heart at war with each other. And he is somewhere over there, most likely experiencing the same struggles. But the reality of this matter is that you _do_ come from very different worlds."

Some of the light left her eyes and Max was sorry for it. But life was cruel and what one wanted, was not always what was allowed.

"You suggest we are too different?"

"I do not say these things to place doubts upon your mind, or sway your affections." She touched her hand gently. "But I do care about you." Max looked at her dejected face and took pity on her. "He is jealous."

Abigail frowned. "Of Benjamin? Surely not?"

"In a world less clouded by our current circumstance - in a _perfect_ world - the man you ought to be married to is someone closer to Captain Hargrove, not a pirate who fears he has nothing of value to offer."

"He could love me," Abigail whispered. "That would be enough."

Max felt her cynical heart falter a little at the desperate honesty in Abigail's tone. She had long since lost her innocence, or her belief that there was true, righteous and permanent love in the world. But here, there seemed to be an opportunity to prove perhaps, that she was wrong.

"I know we come from different worlds. But is it so hard to imagine a middle ground where we could coexist?"

"Billy has never had a family. Or at least, Captain Flint's crew is the closest he has come to one. And as I am sure you would agree, that is a certain model for chaos and dysfunction."

"But families are dysfunctional by definition," Abigail stated. "Not every one, granted, but many." She smiled. "A type of functional chaos as it were."

Max laughed. "Yes, I believe they are."

"He seeks an annulment."

"Does he now? And what do you want?" Abigail was silent, although the answer was written on her face. "Nothing in life, especially not in this place, comes to those who are not willing to fight for it. Your Protector has no experience with someone like you. He has fought in dangerous battles, faced all manner of life threatening confrontations and yet you, an Englishwoman from a world he has long ago abandoned, must unsettle him."

"There are times I am certain he must care for me a very little." She bit her lip. "But he is mostly stoic and silent at other times, leaving me perplexed as to what to make of him."

"Ah, this is the commonality with all men."

"I have so little experience with these matters. What should I do?"

"Find a language which you can _both_ use to your advantage."

"Language?" She asked in confusion. "I do not understand. We both speak English. In addition I am fluent in both French and Spanish, I am not sure whether he-" Max knew the minute her true meaning dawned. _"Oh."_ Heat crept across her entire face, prompting her to cup her cheeks to cool them. "You mean…"

"Indeed." Max winked as she gathered her belongings, leaving a deliberate intimation for her young friend. "You are a married woman now. That which was once forbidden is now permitted."

* * *

After sunset Billy stood on the maindeck, instructing a rigger on how to repair one of the sails. Although he had no authority on the ship, there seemed to be a tenuous agreement that he assist with some of the more arduous tasks. Having done more than his fair share for the day, he was about to find his supper when he spotted a couple's silhouette on the quarterdeck above.

He felt his insides clench as he watched them together; Hargrove standing too fucking close to her, his whispers too fucking intimate. Billy turned away, searching the darkness for an object he could readily sink his fists into. Never in his existence could he recall a time when a female frustrated him more and governed his thoughts with such regularity. Thoughts of her blistered his brain, dominating his outward actions and his internal reflections. He _knew_ that she deserved Hargrove, or some version of him, but the knowledge and the truth of it proved to be two entirely different realities. If any man were to put his hands on her, it should be him. If any man were to kiss her, taste her, _love_ her, it ought to be him. He wanted her, even if he knew he did not deserve her. And this selfishness made him the biggest fucking bastard of them all.

His common sense engaged his explosive heart and ultimately, Billy felt his tolerance levels slip beyond reason. _Two more days_ , he championed himself. In two days, he'll be off this god damn ship and out of her reach. _Would any place be far enough,_ he wondered. But perhaps if fucking pigs could fly, distance might allow him to regain some of his usual self-control.

Determined to drink enough rum to force oblivion upon him, Billy turned in time to see Hargrove's head descend towards Abigail and his vision blurred with fierce jealousy. His insides burned with a primal possessiveness that had previously been absent from his experience, but now had become an almost daily battle to overcome.

"Oi, you alright?"

The rigger backed away as Billy stalked by, his scowl thunderous. Rum first. Then he planned to fight the first fool who was unfortunate enough to oblige him.

* * *

"Benjamin, please. No." Abigail pressed a firm hand to the Captain's chest and in the lamplight, watched his face flood with colour.

"I apologise, I thought… things seemed to be going so well…"

"I respect you a great deal, Captain Hargrove," she said, purposefully using his official title. "But I do not see a future for us beyond being friends. I am sorry."

He straightened, clearing his throat and taking a moment to compose himself. They had shared a meal together, and while Abigail had spent the bulk of the evening forcing herself to be a gracious and attentive guest, her mind was somewhere else – on _someone_ else. Her good breeding meant that unless he was incredibly astute, he would have no idea that her smiles were a cover for a bleeding heart.

"I thought we would try-"

"I should have made my position clear when you asked me. I thought that… I do not know what I was thinking. What I do know, is that I respect you and I know that any woman would be fortunate to receive your attentions."

"Any woman besides you that is?" he said wryly. His smile was a small consolation and Abigail felt relieved that there would be no awkward scene.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening," he said. "But if you'll excuse me, I think it best that I withdraw."

He bowed stiffly before leaving her in the cool night air. Abigail gripped the railing and breathed out a heavy sigh of relief. With the moon providing intermittent light, the sight of the water's tumultuous churning hypnotized her as the ship cut through the water. Abigail felt herself sway, tired and depressed. Taking a final breath of the crisp, salty air, she made her way to the Captain's cabin. Despite the awkwardness of their situation, Benjamin had insisted that she be housed in his quarters. He had temporarily moved to another part of the ship. Closing the portal behind her, she considered whether she ought to request that she be housed elsewhere. It was only the first night of their voyage and with his affections spurned, it might be best to limit what others might perceive as an attachment between them. But at present, it was too late and she was too weary.

The Captain's cabin was comfortable, more so she knew, than anywhere else on the ship. A large rug dominated most of the wooden floor of the rectangular shaped room. Off to the left there were shelves from floor to ceiling, bursting with maps, books on cartography and the worlds oceans, other tomes too, some old, the leather jackets cracking with age. Beside the high, solid shelves stood an impressive globe mounted on a wooden frame, no doubt the most accurate depiction of the British Empire and its reach across the world. Abigail gently set the globe in motion, watching it spin upon its axis.

The centre space housed a long, solid wooden table that, like most of the furnishings in the room, was bolted to the floor. At present, it was clear of anything, the wooden surface gleaming in the candlelight. The rear of the cabin was lined with glass windows, a telescope on its frame casting a lonely silhouette. An alcove set to the right housed the sleeping quarters. The bed was built into the cabin's wall, with thick, heavy red drapes – currently tied back – that were drawn when abed to afford the occupant a modicum of privacy.

Removing her cloak, Abigail placed it neatly across a chair, just as a knock arrived at the door. At her allowance, Mrs. Glenwick entered, fussing about in the preparations to get Abigail abed. It felt strange, having a ladies maid aboard the ship, but the widow was kind, obliging and unobtrusive. Without too much fuss, she assisted Abigail with her bath, drew a billowing white nightgown over her head and then combed and braided her hair before gathering the dark mass into a loose braid that hung down the side of her left shoulder. Mrs. Glenwick turned down the bed and released the catches on the drapes.

"When you're ready madam, you can close them to stay the cold."

Her presence felt comforting, Abigail realised, but it underscored how very much she missed Milly and worried about her wellbeing.

"Thank you Mrs. Glenwick."

"I'll be bringing you a cup of tea. I find it always sets my nerves to rest before I get to bed."

Abigail smiled into the kind woman's face. Her nerves required more than a cup of tea, she mused, but she kept that to herself. Mrs. Glenwick closed the door softly and left Abigail to her thoughts.

Curling into the only armchair, she settled to read by candlelight. But her thoughts continuously drifted to a tall, yellow haired pirate with cobalt eyes and an elusive, but striking smile. She closed her eyes and drifted in time, her thoughts taking her back to the first time they had kissed. The memory was vivid and the thought that she would never experience a similar moment with him again brought a bout of all too familiar depression upon her.

She was jolted from her thoughts by a knock. "Enter," she called, rousing herself to receive Mrs. Glenwick.

But a breathless, _'oh'_ was all she could muster before all reason fled. Billy stepped into the room and shut the door with a decisive snap. She would never know how affected he was by the vision she presented. Dressed in simple white cotton, barefoot, with a dark braid running down her shoulder, she had never looked more innocent or more beautiful. Driven by desires that had been brewing inside of her, Abigail took a tentative step forward, compelled beyond thoughts of her modesty. From across the room, she saw him blink, then watched his throat work as he tried to swallow. The look on his face sent spirals of powerful tremors throughout her body. She took another step but his expression changed, pinning her to the spot, silently forbidding further movement.

"You wanted to see me?" His voice was even, controlled, his eyes not quite looking at her.

Abigail frowned. "See you?"

"Max sent word that you wanted to see me," he clarified. But the look of confusion on Abigail's face made the ruse apparent to both of them. He rolled his eyes. "She ought to learn to keep her bloody nose out of business that doesn't concern her," he muttered beneath his breath.

"I think you are being unkind. She may just have wanted to offer some assistance."

"In what way exactly?"

"She is aware…" She cleared her throat. "She is aware that we have quarreled."

"Quarreled. Right," he pulled a face, irritated, their exchange of words becoming rapid. "I see you managed to secure the Captain's quarters."

Abigail's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure what you are trying to insinuate."

"Not a thing," he said, his tone infuriating, making her feel as if she ought to feel guilty. She hated him. Because she did.

"How dare you impugn by character by intimating that I would use Benjamin to secure creature comforts."

"That is not what I meant."

"Please. Do clarify your intent."

He stepped forward then and she could feel the air thicken with his unleashed frustration. "Only that the men below decks are already betting on when Hargrove will request your hand. Your presence in his suite has confirmed his intention."

"That is absurd."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is!" she said, bristling. "I do not seek his attention or accommodations, nor is my presence here an indictment of any understanding between us." Her face aflame at the idea that the crew were gossiping about the status of their relationship, she blurted, "He is a gentleman!"

"A gentleman is he?"

Billy's eyes narrowed, as if challenged. She felt a ripple of awareness fizzle down her spine and took a step back. But he stalked towards her, slowly, menacingly until her hips touched the table. He reached her, effectively trapping her against the piece of furniture as he crowded around her, towering over her.

She swallowed, mortified excitement unfurling in the pit of her stomach at the roguish gleam in his eyes. Her hands, clasped to the desk behind her, wanted desperately to reach for him.

"Is he?" he asked again as his arms lowered to the table behind her, bringing his face within inches of her own. Her thoughts scattered as his heated breath wafted across her face.

 _"Is he?"_ he demanded a third time as his lips brushed her ear and she jumped, heat coursing through her body.

"I… no. I mean… yes." Oh god where had her ability to rationalise gone? "Yes, he is." Her words were barely audible, whispered on a sigh.

"And I'm not?" His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his tongue flicking oh so gently across the outer curve. "Lowly pirate that I am." The hairs on the back of her neck rose and Abigail began to tremble with desperate longing.

"You're not a-" she meant to say lowly pirate. But his deep chuckle silenced her as his lips barely brushed across her cheek.

"Gentleman? I know sweetheart." The endearment slid from his lips, the t's adorably missing from the elocution. "But that's alright. Because a gentleman wouldn't do this."

His snatched her off her feet and into his arms. Abigail let out a breathless laugh as her feet lifted off the floor, his mouth seeking with acute urgency as he gifted her with a searing kiss. Her thoughts clouded as her arms wrapped around his neck, helpless as she matched his urgency. He groaned and she was ridiculously pleased to know he was not immune to her. His hand moved to her neck, caressing the delicate hairline before angling her head to allow their lips to fuse together more intimately. Her body flamed as his tongue caressed hers, scarcely able to draw breath. But she did not care. She was in his arms, his mouth wickedly enticing as it moved hungrily across her own.

"Jesus, you're beautiful," he whispered, his voice a soft, desperate ache and Abigail felt tears prick the backs of her eyes. Capturing his face between her hands to still him momentarily, she ran her fingers across his neatly cropped hair as their heaving breaths mingled.

"Billy, what happened?" Turning his face this way and that, she observed cuts and angry red bruises already forming on the surface of his cheek. "You're hurt."

"Its nothing," he said, but seemed to submit to her gentle ministrations. Their foreheads touched as their breathing synced intimately. Their harsh panting was the only sound in the room for a moment before he whispered hoarsely.

"I didn't like him touching you," he confessed suddenly as he looked directly into her eyes. That had not been what he had meant to say. Her heart quivered as if stroked by the gentle wings of a butterfly. But it was too late and so he said more. "I didn't like him kissing you."

"He did not."

"But I saw him try," he growled. His lips captured hers in an open-mouthed kiss meant to scandelise. Abigail wrapped her arms around him and matched his ardor, beyond modesty as she mimicked the stroking of his tongue. Billy groaned, hitching her closer, a hand sliding slowly from her knee to her breast.

"I do not want him to touch me. Or kiss me." She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I want to be with you. Only _you_."

Inside, her admission _broke_ him. Billy hadn't planned being here. In fact, avoiding her had been his sole purpose. But drink had held no gratification and brawling with a crew member who _was_ drunk brought no satisfaction when the challenge was so unevenly matched. Despite attempting to avoid this outcome, like many inevitabilities in life, he'd found his way to her. No one had ever looked at him the way she did, as if he were _worthy_. The notion touched something inside of him that he had long forgotten existed.

Billy tried to gain some semblance of control, but he was hopelessly adrift. Each time he would lower her to the ground, her moan of protest would have him dragging her back against his chest, their mouths fused in an artful dance of pure decadence. She was his addiction and he was incapable of staying away from her, from kissing her and _Christ_ , from wanting to love her.

Billy kissed her with a unrestrained hunger, his mouth dancing across hers in lavish strokes. Abigail squirmed against him, clutching at his strong shoulders, wanting him closer. Through the thin barrier of her nightgown, she could feel him, his hips pressing intimately against the apex of her thighs. Eventually, their mouths were forced apart in a desperate attempt for air. His lips blazed a trail down her throat, pressing ardent kisses to the incredibly soft, smooth skin. Her scent, floral and fragrant, assaulted his senses, convincing him that the smell would forever be burnt into his skin.

 _Things were moving too fast._ But when her hands cupped his cheeks and gently tugged his face upward, he was a slave, completely at her mercy. Her eyes, an ocean of scorching emotion, gave him the answers to questions only a blackguard would ask. He saw it then, her deepest admission and his greatest joy. _Christ._ She was an angel. And he would likely end up in hell.

"Oh God," she said suddenly, drawing away abruptly and looking towards the door. "Mrs. Glenwick. My tea. She's-"

His desire laden brain made little sense of her words until he heard the knock at the door. _That_ he instantly understood. _Fuck_. For a split second they were both immobile before he frantically searched for a hideaway. At the same moment they seemed to realise that the bed, with its heavy, concealed drapes, was the only option. The door was already opening when Billy dove onto the bed and pressed behind the curtain. Forcing his breathing to regulate, he remained motionless, afraid that any sound, even breathing, would compromise her. _Fucking idiot,_ he cursed himself.

* * *

Abigail felt uncontrollable amusement as she watched him flee behind the curtain. Observing a man of his size attempt such a thing was utterly incongruous and it took every measure of self-control she possessed to abstain from giggling.

"Are you alright dear?" Mrs. Glenwich asked, as she placed the cup on the table. "You look flushed." Her smile over bright, her cheeks aflame, Abigail assured the older woman that there was nothing amiss and that she would be going to bed posthaste. Thankfully she did not dally long and bid her a peaceful night.

"She's departed," she called softly, her smile widening as he peaked out behind the crimson swathes.

"Jesus," he grunted as he exited the bed with far more dignity than he had entered.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, except perhaps for my pride, seeing as I'm cowering from a bloody ladies maid," he said with one of his elusive smiles. "But I reckon I'll live."

Feeling completely out of her depth and suddenly overwhelmed by shyness, Abigail looked away, her face as crimson as the drapes. _She had no idea how to go about seducing her husband!_

"I urm… should go. It's late and-"

 _Go?_ She panicked. "What happened to your face?" she asked, desperate to stay his movement.

"I'm a disagreeable prick is all." He almost smiled again.

She cocked her head to the side and teased. "In my experience, only _some_ of the time." His eyes darkened and moved to her lips. Abigail felt the thrill of it throughout her entire body. _Be bold. Be brave. Fight for what you want,_ she championed herself, annoyed at Max for failing to tell her _how_ to speak this common language.

Slowly, she went to him, his eyes tracking her every movement. He had tensed, but seemed immobile, as entranced by her and she was by him. After only a moment's hesitation, her hands inched up his chest, sliding slowly across the warm planes.

"Billy," she said gently, calling him back to her. She wanted him to understand, before anything else occurred, she needed him to know. "I feared that if I told Benjamin about our marriage before we reached Nassau, the English here, outside of the purview of Governor Rogers might assume you had taken advantage of an English woman and detain you – or worse." His eyes were dark and steady. "I could _never_ be ashamed of you."

"Am I taking advantage of you now?" he teased softly, as he pushed her hair behind her ear, the intensity of his gaze belying his easy tone. A veritable inferno ignited inside of her.

"I understand that it's a husband's prerogative," she said with a breathless whisper.

His eyes drifted closed as his jaw stiffened. Slowly, but deliberately, he removed her hands from his chest and Abigail felt her heart break.

 _Why are you doing this,_ she wanted to scream. But she knew if she gave her thoughts voice, she would cry. And in the midst of being rejected by ones husband, her pride would not allow for tears. At least, not while he was still in the room.

"I'm sorry," was all he said before he turned and exited the room. She stood silent, a little shocked by the abrupt turnaround.

The tears came then, her entire body shaking. _What was wrong with her?_ She rubbed her chest, trying to sooth the burning pain that radiated from her heart. As if it were possible. The only person capable of easing her pain had just walked from her bedroom.

She looked around the room, at a loss, suddenly painfully cold. Turning on the spot, a sob escaped from her lips and she pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to stifle the sound and the accompanying ache. Dear god. She loved him so much. And now, everything hurt.

There was a loud knock at the door and another sob caught in her throat as it was flung open. Billy stood in the doorway, motionless for only a second before the door closed behind him. He took a moment, his back to her, as he deliberately turned the key in the lock. Abigail's body went from cold to hot in an instant.

She watched his shoulders heave, as if he had run for miles, before he turned to look at her. He looked completely tortured, beside himself, _defeated_.

 _"Fuck it."_

Within three enormous strides he was by her side, his lips brushing across her tear stained face in pained worship.

"For the first time in my fucking life, I wish I was born a man who could be your equal."

"You are-"

"No."

Abigail shook her head, willing him to believe her. He needed to be shown love and affection more than any other person she knew.

"The future is not written by the past." Reaching up, she drew him down and brushed the tip of her nose with his. " _William_." Billy Bones, a man without a god, a pirate, a man without a family came hopelessly undone. "Do not look back," she whispered against his lips. "I want _you_. Is that not enough?"

His eyes closed for a minute, as if he were saying a prayer. He was bound for hell. _But he no longer cared._ Billy simply asked, "Are you sure?"

Her response was lost in a soul-rendering kiss. He guided her arms around his neck a second before he scooped her into his arms.

She had heard things from friends, whispers of what it would be like between a man and a woman. All of those tales had made the act of physical love sound cold, clinical and obligatory. As Billy slowly removed her nightgown, she realised that either she had misheard them, or they had spoken of things they had no idea of. Because there was nothing cold about the way she felt when he laid her across the bed and hungrily looked upon her form.

"Don't be frightened," he whispered, misinterpreting her timidity as he lay beside her. For all of her life she had felt plain - passably pretty perhaps, but plain. But now, in this moment, she _felt_ beautiful, made so by the complete reverence in his eyes, the ardour of his lips, and the worship of his hands.

"I'm not. Because I'm with you." Primal, passionate possession flared in his eyes as their lips collided spectacularly. Abigail opened to him, their tongues sliding together in silken wonder. Billy reached for her hair and undid the braid until the glossy strands spread across the pillow. Burying his face in her hair, Abigail tentatively ran her hands across his shoulder, thrilled at the pleasure of being able to touch him. But any thoughts she had dissipated as his mouth travelled across her chest and locked on her breasts. She squirmed, sensation radiating from her breasts and farther, swirling desperately in intimate places. Abigail gasped, unable to reconcile thought from feeling. Instantly, she had dissolved into a quivering mass, a slave to the hands that caressed her body and the mouth that inflicted the sweetest torment.

But as his hands caressed her skin, his warm fingers and calloused palms drawing soft sighs of pleasure from her, she became increasingly frustrated at the barrier of his shirt. His grin in reaction to her keening was all knowing, her cheeks going crimson when he acquiesced to her silent request and divested his form of his shirt. Wearing nothing but the leather cuffs at his wrists, his naked torso brushed across hers, and Abigail felt her eyes roll back in her head at the incredible pleasure the action produced. His body was hard where she was soft, hers smooth where hair roughened the surface of his, her frame petite, yet his was large. But despite these differences, they fit together perfectly.

His lips worshipped, his hands working in tandem as he pressed south. His warm mouth explored across her chest, gently blowing at her breasts until the peaks stiffened. Keening softly, he soothed then suckled until her hands found his head, wantonly holding his torturous mouth against her. But his hands moved further still, sweeping across her soft stomach, then lower. Abigail gasped, her instincts denying him as his fingers sought to touch her _there_. His lips moved to hers, whispering, "trust me," as he bit softly at her bottom lip. She was powerless to deny him and so his long fingers flicked, probed and dipped rhythmically until she instinctively began undulating beneath him, matching the hot, wet strokes. Her pleasure built, encompassing her entire body in a rapid inferno. But his skilled fingers were once again on the move, cupping her breasts as Billy reached for her and inclined her head to receive his open mouthed kiss.

When exactly he was divested of his remaining clothing, she was unsure. She had long since dissolved into an ocean of sensation, sighs, moans and gasps. When he finally settled between her thighs, he nuzzled her neck, his warm, moist breath echoing against the skin there. Abigail felt the heavy weight of him, engorged and hot, pressing gently at the entrance of her body and the beating of her heart increased to solid thumps.

She had read enough to know what happened during the act of love. But what those academic texts failed to mention was the incredible litany of intimacies that a couple shared, making the act so much more than just the physical joining of bodies, but one that could scorch her soul.

Her hands cupped his hair-roughened cheeks and guided his lips back to hers as his arm swept beneath her neck, cradling her close. As their eyes locked so he might read her every emotion, he gently pressed into her in short, slow thrusts. Abigail gasped at the fleeting fullness as he rocked back and forth, each time going a little deeper. Restless, she arched up, not sure what she wanted or needed until with one final push, he was all the way inside of her. Turning her head, she pressed her face into his bicep, breathing through the sharp pain as her body adjusted to accommodate him.

Billy's eyes closed, his lashes trembling faintly against his cheeks as he fought to control his raging desire. But Abigail's discomfort subsided quickly and her hands began its tentative exploration again - touching his breastbone, sweeping down his lean sides, the rippled cage of his abdomen and ribs and the smooth, muscled plane of his back. _Dear god, but he was magnificent!_

Billy's brilliant blue eyes were heavy as his lips claimed hers in carnal decadence. His hands gently guided her legs to wrap around his waist as he begun his rhythmic assault. From incremental to instant, pleasure built until her body stiffened then shuddered, soaring off the face of a cliff. Burying his face in the cradle of her neck, together, their entire world exploded in a kaleidoscope of pleasure.

* * *

When Billy raised himself onto his elbows, his heart melted at her rosy expression. She was drowsy, her head lying limply across his forearm, her glorious mane spread across the bed. He gently brushed her hair behind her ears before pressing a kiss to her temple. _Christ_ , he'd never wanted a woman as much as her. Even now, looking at her beautiful face, he wanted her again and again. He wanted her forever and it scared the shit out of him.

"Are you alright?" His eyes were evaluative as they roamed across her face, trying to gauge the answer himself. She was so small, her frame fitting neatly into the centre of his, her body accommodating the bulk and size of him perfectly, as if she were intended only for him. Billy had never been prone to possessiveness, and yet he found himself savagely pleased that he had been the only man to possess her. As he lay atop her, their bodies still connected, he realised that he would now be fighting a new battle - the notion that he should be the first _and_ last to ever do so.

She nodded, overcome with bashfulness as she pressed a kiss to his bicep, her eyes fluttering. Billy moved, tucking her into the side of his body before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Sleep sweetheart," he whispered. Abigail's eyes were already drifting shut when her brain registered the endearment. She smiled, the word again pronounced without the t's. She liked the way he said it. Closing her eyes, she immediately drifted into a sated sleep.

* * *

Abigail was not immediately aware of what it was that roused her. When she opened her eyes, her surroundings were completely dark. She realised almost simultaneously that the drapes were drawn and that _she_ had not been the one to draw it. _Billy_. She began to move when strong arms contracted, holding her in place. If there was any doubt that her husband was a veritable giant, then this was it. Her tiny frame was swallowed as his body cradled hers, her head resting across his arm as his other looped around her waist.

"Don't move," he growled in her ear, causing shivers to race down her spine. She trembled and his embrace tightened.

"Are you cold?"

"No," she whispered in the dark, completely aware of where every inch of his body pressed against her own.

"You're trembling."

"I've never roused beside a man before," she admitted, the dark making her bold. She turned in his arms, her hands sliding up his chest to ascertain exactly where his face was. Her fingers brushed across warm skin, coming to rest on the stubble across his cheeks.

"I'd suggest you cease your exploration madam," he teased, "unless you're willing to accept the consequences."

Abigail smiled and pushed closer, forcing him onto his back.

"What if I am?"

She squeaked when in a stunning reversal, she lay on _her_ back and he between her thighs.

"You shouldn't have said that, love."

Cloaked in blinding darkness, Billy moved slowly and surely. Abigail felt her pleasure mount in new and decadent ways. Unable to see, all they had was touch and taste. In their darkened sanctuary, she sighed and moaned as his lips travelled across the peaks and valleys of her body. Scandelised, she accepted his mouth on her most intimate place, eventually holding his head to her body as she undulated beneath his torturous ministrations. When his body slipped inside of hers, she moaned under the languid pace, wrapping her arms around him and matching each stroke with passionate surrender.

* * *

The second time she woke, daylight filtered through the drapes. She lay on her back, a heavy arm anchored beneath her breasts. Through the crack in the curtains, she was able to see that he was still asleep and her heart swelled with love for him. His entire body was relaxed, turned towards her. Reaching out, she brushed her fingers lightly across his short hair.

"It's not polite to stare."

She jumped, her face flushing crimson. Blue eyes opened and stared directly at her. Her stomach fluttered. _He was so handsome,_ she thought. Reaching across, he placed a kiss to her lips. But one kiss was never going to be enough. Within seconds his hands had fisted in her hair and he was about to roll her beneath him when shouts from outside penetrated their cocoon. He groaned.

"I should go." He looked as reluctant as she was. But he was right. "Your Mrs. Glenwick will be here soon and this time, I won't be able to hide." He left the bed and returned half dressed - wearing his discarded pants only - and held out her nightgown.

"I suppose it might be best to help you back into this." His grin was wickedly charming and despite the intimacies they had shared together, she still blushed profusely as she stepped from the bed and shrugged her naked form into the garment.

Abigail turned and he gathered her in his arms, her hair cascading down her back as she tilted up to look at him. She was now a married woman. _Truly and completely._

"Good morning, William," she whispered.

Inside, Billy felt the embers of the most violent happiness roar to life.

"Good morning, wife."


	12. XII

Millicent Jones, a woman who prided herself on understanding the importance of protocols, unashamedly cast them aside as she boldly strode into Governor Rogers council meeting. Truth be told, all the members of his council had already been dismissed and the sole remaining member was Eleanor Guthrie. But the meeting itself had not formally come to a close. So in reality, she was forgoing all proper conduct by storming inside and demanding answers to her questions.

It had been days since Abigail was taken. More than a week in fact. Last she heard, Mister Manderly had set sail for her rescue with no other strategy than to wage war upon Captain Teach if she was harmed. While the plan seemed effective - yet basic at best - the part that bothered her was not Teach's possible demise, but the idea that Abigail might already be dead or worse.

Milly willed herself not to flush at the Governor's raised brow, communicating his succinct disapproval of her behaviour.

"Forgive me," she began, aware that they knew she was not actually requesting their pardon. "It has been more than a week with no word on Abigail. I demand to be informed at once."

"You demand Miss Jones?" the Governor queried. In truth, he looked half amused, half exasperated. The Governor she knew, was well versed in dealing with difficult women. At present, he shared a long look with one - Eleanor - before turning back to Milly. It seemed as though they communicated without any actual words asserted between them. At a different time, the idea might have given her pause. At present, it only served to increase her trepidation. She decided to change tactics.

"Please. I do apologise for my brash behaviour. It is unbecoming and I hope you accept that it is not my usual way. But Abigail is in my care. I promised her parents that I would always see to her comfort and wellbeing. I must insist on being apprised of her situation."

Milly felt her own fears surface; the reality of just what might have happened to Abigail and her voice became tinged with hopeless desperation. "News. _Please_. Any news."

The Governor, who had been standing behind his desk, moved around it now and gestured for Milly to have a seat. Gratefully, she sank into a chair, relieved that she had not been shown the door, but also because her legs were bound to fail her. Outwardly demure, her nails dug into her hands as nervous tension filled her body.

Eleanor came to sit on a chair beside her, drawing Milly's eyes to the light swell of her stomach.

"As you know, Flint pursued Captain Teach about ten days ago. Since then, the Walrus has returned to the bay, ready and prepared for war. You will have noticed that the island is in a state of advanced readiness."

Milly nodded. She knew all of this. But it was not her most pressing concern.

"Very soon, canons and gun fire will be raining down on this bay. This outcome has been inevitable."

"I know this Governor. But what of Abigail."

"I received an anonymous missive – although I am quite certain it is from Captain Flint - that Abigail was well when he encountered her on Ocracoke Island. In fact, they arrived on the beach in time to avert her marriage to Captain Teach."

Milly breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh thank god. Where is she now? If Captain Flint has returned to the bay, where is she? Where is Mister Manderly?"

Eleanor reached over and squeezed Milly's hand. The gesture surprised her, now used to the somewhat aloof demeanour of the young woman. Eleanor Guthrie was a fascinating creature. Not cold, but definitely cautious in her relations. To Milly, she had been somewhat reserved and courteous, but always direct. Eleanor's support in this moment did not bode well.

"What is it? Speak plainly Miss Guthrie, you know me well enough to know that it will be appreciated."

"In order to avert Teach's interest, Abigail agreed to be married."

"Married?" she repeated. Milly frowned, unable to make sense of what she had just heard. She understood the words of course, and yet her mind seemed slow to fully process it.

"Yes." Eleanor looked to Rogers who nodded his encouragement. "She married Billy."

"Abigail wed Mister Manderly?" Milly repeated, dumbfounded.

"She has yes," Governor Rogers said. "I know very little of the context and circumstance, only that it served to free her from a marriage to Captain Teach."

"So she was rescued from one form of hell only to enter into another."

"I wouldn't exactly call marriage to Billy hell," Eleanor retorted plainly. "One would have to be blind not to see how much he cares about her. And while he is a pirate, he's one of the better specimens in Nassau."

"Forgive me, Eleanor, if I may," Milly began. "Mister Manderly is no more suitable as a marriage partner than Captain Teach. They are both of equal disrepute and the notion that she is tied to him is reprehensible."

"For Christ's sake I could make a case for why that is not so."

"It should be amusing to hear you attempt such an absurdity."

"We shall not argue the merits of either man's character," Governor Rogers interceded firmly, correctly reading the rising tension between the women. "All we know at present is that she _is_ wed to Billy."

Milly nodded to the Governor, appreciative of his point. It was certainly not the time to argue with Miss Guthrie. "Where are they now? It's nearing two weeks with no word."

Rogers moved to sit on the edge of his desk, clearly choosing his words wisely. "An English ship, the _Persephone_ , helmed by Captain Hargrove, was sent to Ocracoke Island as a failsafe if you will, to ensure that the crown's best interests were being served in so far as the honour of the pirates involved, and the safe acquisition of an English subject. However, I have received word that Ocracoke has been set upon by a military force outside of my jurisdiction, and operating directly under the missive of the crown. Captain Teach has been killed, his death has been confirmed."

Milly swallowed, her heartbeat rising. "You're saying Governor, that Abigail is currently caught in the midst of another war?"

"My understanding is that Captain Hargrove spent a few days in the bay to gain intelligence and assist in the peace-keeping efforts. Abigail is unharmed and should be enroute to Nassau."

 _"Should be?"_

"If Hargrove's last letter proves accurate, his ship is one day behind the sloop that delivered his letter this morning. Miss Ashe –" he paused, aware that the title was inaccurate. "Abigail, is aboard the _Persephone_."

"Thank God." Milly began to tremble with relief.

"The danger," Eleanor said, "is in the war. The ceasefire has long since lapsed and Captain Flint _will_ take action soon. This means that when Captain Hargrove sails into this bay tomorrow, he will most likely encounter a war."

Milly's hands were cold and damp as she rubbed them on her skirts.

"Captain Hargrove is one of the navy's finest. If anyone can get her to shore safely, he can." Governor Rogers' words were of little comfort.

"And if not Captain Hargrove, then I have no doubt that Billy will attempt the same," Eleanor said.

"He is aligned with Captain Flint, is he not?" Milly retorted, emotionally wrought and therefore more combative than ever.

"Best we know, yes, he is."

"Then what hope is there that he will protect her?" Milly cried.

"Because he gave you his word," Eleanor said. "I know you think nothing of the men on this island, or of pirates in general, but Billy Bones, like many of Nassau's pirates, is loyal to a fault. Loyal to Flint, perhaps yes. But he is also known for doing the right thing. We know he married Abigail." Milly rolled her eyes as Eleanor continued. " _We know he married her_ ," she reiterated slowly. "And she must have agreed. He _will_ protect her."

"If she were forced or coerced, entreated under duress, what can be done about the marriage?" Milly snapped.

"I do not think it wise to-"

"She is my ward, Governor. It is my duty to think about the legalities. Abigail is a wealthy woman. What can be done?"

"Are you trying to assert that Billy might have married her to gain access to her inheritance?" Eleanor rolled her eyes. "That's fucking preposterous."

"The marriage, _whatever the circumstances_ ," Governor Rogers said, "will be legal if presided over by a man of faith. If both parties consented, then there is no cause for annulment."

"Unless," Eleanor said, deliberately bold. "Unless they've fucked."

Milly narrowed her eyes, sure that Eleanor was being deliberately crude.

"I think it best not to speculate on the status of Miss Ashe's personal circumstance," the Governor cautioned. _He was a master negotiator,_ Milly admitted to herself, impressed. He was relentlessly composed. "But yes, if the marriage has not been consummated, then the matter of an annulment will be simple."

* * *

Abigail spent the morning in a complete daze. Thrice her ladies maid had asked her a question, and each time she had heard none of it.

The first time Mrs. Glenwick caught her standing in the middle of the room, wrapped in a reverie. The second was at the breakfast table, enquiring whether she would like another cup of tea. The query had again gone completely unheard. And finally, Abigail was roused when she heard the older woman cry, "Really Miss Ashe, are you alright? I cannot seem to hold your attention for more than a minute."

Making a concerted effort, she thanked the woman for her assistance and assured her that she was only anxious to reach Nassau and see her friends. That at least, was not a lie. She was anxious to return home. And she definitely longed to see Milly. But at present, the only thoughts racing through her mind with scandalous frequency was the vision of her husband, poised above her, the sensation of his hands brushing across her body in the dark, the weight of him between her thighs and the touch of his lips as they moulded to hers and danced across her skin.

The glow of intimacy was however unwittingly replaced with one of trepidation. By midday it was clear that they were sailing into inclement weather. Deciding to spend some time writing in the sun, Mrs. Glenwick returned with news of the approaching storm, quelling Abigail's plans to venture outside. The wind began to howl as the ship rocked from side to side, waves jostling the vessel with frequency.

Walking to the deck, she remained under cover as she watched the crew through the sleet of rain, noting their furious movements as they worked to ensure goods were stowed and secured. Orders rang across the deck to the riggers, orders pertaining to the sails and the ships bearing.

"M'am."

Abigail found a young man at her elbow. He was no more than twelve or thirteen years old. Dressed neatly in a red and white naval uniform, he was Benjamin's cabin boy. She had met him the day they boarded the ship.

"Captain Hargrove advises that you remain below. The deck is slick and dangerous for anyone not a member of the crew."

Abigail nodded. Now that she had witnessed the weather, she had no intention of venturing outside. She lingered a moment though, trying to locate where Billy might be. But the curtain of rain was too thick.

"Mister Manderly," she asked. "Do you know where he is?"

"No m'am. But his assistance was required with the sails. He is most likely on the foredeck. Should I enquire?"

"No, not at all. Thank you."

Returning to her cabin, she found Max pacing before the windows.

"There you are," Abigail said as she shrugged out of her cloak. It was damp from the minutes she spent in the rain. "I thought you might be with Captain Hargrove."

"The Captain is occupied with keeping this vessel afloat. I am afraid we are sailing into a storm."

Abigail bit her lip, coming to stand beside Max. Through the windows, the dark grey clouds were ominous, their colour and bearing serving as a portent for what would come. Suddenly cold, she fetched a shawl amongst the makeshift garments supplied for her and wrapped herself securely. Already the vessel began to rock as waves swelled and crashed.

"So close to home and yet so far," Abigail said.

"We are in capable hands," Max said, watching her closely. "You were above deck for a reason?"

"Fresh air," Abigail offered, then admitted. "And to see if I could locate Billy."

"He will be working with the crew," Max offered.

"I'm just worried. It's silly."

"If it is any consolation, he has weathered many such storms in his career as both a First Mate and later the Quartermaster. He is very capable."

Abigail smiled, distracted. "I know."

"You have resolved your differences?"

Abigail sat down, bracing her hands on the table to steady herself. Max followed suit. "In a manner. He… he apologised."

"Did he now?"

Abigail nodded, already blushing. "Last night."

Max's brows rose and Abigail tried hard to stop the ridiculous smile that threatened to break across her face.

"If the colour on your cheeks are anything to do by, he did more than just apologise."

Abigail bit her lip but said no more.

"You are well today though? After?" Max asked.

Abigail nodded. A part of her was embarrassed at the choice of conversation and another was eager to talk with another about it.

"Good. You are more fortunate than most women."

"Do you mean…?"

"For the vast majority of women the first time is not a pleasant experience."

Curious, despite her mortification, Abigail asked, "Your first time. Was it awful?"

Max grimaced. "The first _few_ times. But I learnt the power that desire can yield. When you are naked, you have no defences. It is only you and your partner. While affection is not a prerequisite, the presence of it makes it…" Max was lost for a moment in her own thoughts. Abigail waited. "When you care for your partner, the experience is different, that is all."

"Women of my acquaintance… well, they spoke of it as if it were a duty only, created by God for the purpose of procreation. I always assumed that it would not be… pleasant."

"Those husbands did not seem to know what they were doing. Or, their wives did not know how to ask for what they wanted." Max winked and Abigail blushed again. "Now, I will return to my cabin and try to get some rest while I am able. I suspect we will have no sleep tonight. But I shall return later. We can have our dinner together?"

Abigail grinned. "I suspect we might have to chase it about the room."

* * *

Utterly restless, Abigail spent the rest of the afternoon writing in her journal. Much later, she tried to get some sleep, but the rocking of the ship made it impossible. Finally, she gave up and settled with a book from one of the Captain's shelves, sipping on a warm cup of tea while Mrs. Glenwick lit the candles around the room. Max returned for dinner as promised, but they both ate very little and found more comfort in mutual silence than inane conversation. Eventually, the cold forced them both to bid each other good night. Mrs. Glenwick had long since retired, but Abigail remained up, worried about Billy, about the entire crew, especially as the winds picked up speed and the rain continued to pour, barraging the vessel with its force.

Wrapped in her shawl, Abigail braced herself against the table and stared out into the dark night. It was impossible to see anything out of the windows, but she could discern the sound of the raindrops as they splattered against the panes. She lost track of the time, sure it was close to midnight when she eventually settled into the only armchair and fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Sometime after midnight, Billy was relieved by a member of the crew. Frozen and soaked to the bone, he cautiously navigated the rain slicked deck, the surface pelted with intermittent waves.

Standing just below the main deck. Billy surveyed the bulwarks. They were holding. Hopefully, no members of the crew would be swept overboard and into the current. Satisfied, he _should_ have made for the crew quarters, but the idea of a cold hammock among drunken sailors did not appeal. More than that, he missed _her_. The idea scared the shit out of him - that he wanted to see her, that he wanted to be with her, that somehow, he had come to _need_ her.

But he was cold, hungry and wanted to wrap his arms around her and forget for a little while that a war waited. Perhaps it was his depleted state, or perhaps it was because he was done fighting himself. Aware that water trailed in his wake, Billy approached the Captain's quarters, hoping the door was not locked. Despite and storm, or because of it, the ship teemed with life. If he was going to enter her quarters again, like the night before, it would have to be quick.

Without over thinking it, he made sure he was alone before he turned the knob on the portal door. Relieved, it swung open. Stepping into the dimly lit cabin, he closed and locked the door.

Giving himself a moment to adjust to the dim interior, his eyes immediately went to the bed, but it was empty. Frowning, he began to scan the rest of the interior. He found a white lump in the armchair by the windows. The sight of her took his breath away, even from across the room. An ache he had not been aware of began to sooth as he breathed easier. _She was safe._

She stirred, raising her head. "Billy?"

"Yeah."

She rushed towards him. "Oh god, you're soaked. And frozen. Where have you been?" Her hands roamed across his face, down his arms and touched his drenched shirt. He was standing in a pool of water as the droplets seeped onto the floor.

"Would you believe swaying from the foremast?" It took all his self-control not to stammer his response as chills raced throughout his body. _Fuck_ , but he couldn't remember the last time he had been this cold. Her hands cupped his face again and Billy tensed his jaw. Her hands were so warm, he leaned into them against his will, seeking her nearness and her warmth. Automatically, he lost the battle and began to shudder from the cold.

"You need to get out of these clothes," she ordered, unusually stern, her hands rubbing at the goosebumps puckering across his cold arms.

She left him to fetch as many towels as she could find in the dark. He raised an amused brow at her fussing, but uttered no objections. Without words, she competently assisted him in removing his shirt, the garment completely soaked. He removed his boots, socks and when Abigail turned away bashfully, his pants. Naked and shivering, he accepted the towel she offered him and briskly dried his body.

"Have you eaten?"

He shook his head, wrapping the towel around his waist. Despite being naked, the removal of his cold clothing brought some immediate relief.

"Come," she said, leading him to the table. "It's not much, and its cold, but I could not eat much at dinner time."

She placed a platter of sandwiches before him and without a word he gratefully attacked them. The last thing he'd eaten was a rushed breakfast amidst preparations for the storm. While he ate, she draped her shawl across his naked shoulders and rubbed warmth into his frozen skin. Slightly ashamed, he revelled under her ministrations, enjoying her attention and care. The concept was completely foreign to him, but he realised, he could quite easily succumb to it.

The sandwiches disappeared within minutes and she offered him some water with an apologetic smile. "There is nothing else here I'm afraid."

Without a word, he swallowed deeply, his body already warming at the fuel placed inside of it.

She reached for his hand and Billy took it, her warm fingers wrapping around his icy appendages. When she tugged, he rose and followed her to the bed. It was dark, the candlelight meagre at best. But he would have bet his life her face was delightfully crimson as she climbed into the bed and held the covers open for him. He couldn't help but think that he was bound for hell. But when her arms and legs wrapped around him, drawing the cold from his limbs, he realised he didn't fucking care. Billy sighed, instantly satisfied and at peace.

"You're so cold," she whispered in the dark, her own body shuddering as she absorbed some of the chill.

"Not for long," he whispered back as his hands roamed across her compact frame, capturing her gasp with his mouth as their lips touched. But no sooner had his lips found hers, than the ship lurched ominously as it was hit by a wave. The vessel creaked and moaned as it persevered under the weight of water.

Abigail giggled as she was launched against him. "We will not get any sleep."

Grabbing hold of their pillows, he piled them against the wall. Abigail lay still as he arranged them to his satisfaction. Next, he wedged her between the wall and his body, pillows to her back, her front pressed against him. His legs scissored with hers, anchoring them both to the spot.

"Oh," she whispered as she tucked her head onto his arm. Wedged securely, she barely felt the ships movements. His lips press a long, lingering kiss to the top of her head and burrowed closer. Already their combined heat thawed his body, his light tremors stopping completely.

"Will the weather clear before morning?" she asked.

"Its likely," he said, appreciating the warmth that slowly flooded his limbs. "I've sailed in worse."

She went quiet and he swore he could hear her curiosity. He smiled in the dark. "What is it?"

She squirmed a little before asking, "Do you remember your parents?"

He thought about it for a moment before answering. "Not really. I was taken so long ago, I'm not rightly sure if what I remember are my own memories or something conjured."

"Do you miss them?"

He swallowed. _Every day._ "It became easier," he said instead. "I had a new life."

"Have you ever considered going back? Finding them?" Her fingers brushed gently across his chest, coming to rest at the apex of his neck and shoulder. He considered lying, brushing her questions aside. But for the first time in his life, he realised he wanted another person to know him, to know about him, where he'd come from. He wanted that person to be Abigail.

"I did, in the beginning. Fuck, it was all I thought about, getting back home." _Jesus, he hadn't spoken about this to anyone. Perhaps ever._ "I ur… cried a lot back then." He couldn't help a smile at her breathy, _oh Billy_ , clearly heartbroken for the innocent he had once been. "At night in the dark, I'd hold back my sobs, my fear choking me. I missed my family and all I wanted was to go back, see my mother's smiling face. We had nothing – _shit_ , we had less than nothing - but we found reasons to laugh."

"You have brothers and sisters?"

She sounded envious. He knew she was an only child. "I was the middle child of five."

She gasped. "Five?"

His chuckle was soft and gruff as he was warmed by the memories. "Yeah. Jeremiah, then Thomas, myself, Alice and Bryce. Alice and Bryce were babies when I was taken. Doubt they'd even remember me."

This time she did say, _"Oh Billy,"_ out loud.

"I realised soon enough that I was never going back. At least, if I did, I'd never be the same." He shrugged and her arms tightened around him. "When Flint found me, he offered me the opportunity to enact the revenge I'd planned in my head for years."

"What happened," she asked softly. "Tell me."

So he did. "It took a while, but eventually I found the recruiter. He'd sold hundreds of stolen children - wretched from their parents without consent or warning, and condemned them to a life of brutality. Thought I knew exactly what I'd do to him if I ever found him. Ranged from macabre to simply slitting his fucking throat in his sleep. But I'd not anticipated just how intense my desire for retribution was. When I found him in a London tavern, it struck me how much detail I remembered. He looked the same and _smelled_ the same. A mixture of rum and tobacco. He didn't know me. He'd taken too many boys. I was just one in a long line of lives he'd ruined."

The hand at his neck soothed, calmed, anchored him as he spoke. "I'd wanted him to remember me, wanted to think that somehow he was sorry for what he'd done. A part of me hoped for it so I might spare his life. But he was a greedy fuck who cared only for the coin paid to him. _We were shit,_ he'd said to me, _going to amount to nothing_. _He gave us an opportunity_ ," Billy whispered, his bitterness filling the darkness.

"Looking him in the eye, I took my short blade and stabbed until his guts spilt across my hands." He felt her shudder. She wanted the truth and he needed her to hear it. "Then I left him there. He was still alive, but fading fast, choking on his own blood, twitching like a lamb on the cold, cobbled street. _Revenge is sweet._ Flint told me that. In that at least, Flint was right. He was a fucking animal. And I made sure he died like one."

The ship groaned as another wave hit it. But in the darkness, it was just the two of them.

"After that, I couldn't go back home. Flint would've let me go. But I was different. My parents deserved better and I would've died before shaming them with what I'd become. And so I stayed. I vowed never to look back. And I haven't." _Until now. Until you._

He felt cold again, but warmth came in the form of her soft lips, pressing kisses to the side of his neck, his jawline and finally, his lips.

"I am sorry, William." The words, simple and soft held no judgement, no pity. They meant more to him than anything in recent years.

"So Flint took me in. I became a member of his crew and the rest… ancient history."

"Why do you hate him so?"

"I didn't always. Perhaps hate is too strong a word. But he's done things, taken lives, made decisions that cost the crew. I don't think his brand of leadership is appropriate any longer."

"Would you…" she breathed deeply and he prompted her to continue. "Would you leave all of this? Piracy, your crew, this war?"

Billy felt his insides shudder. Would he? _Could_ he? "This is the only life I've ever known." He paused, his voice a little hoarse. "I don't know what I'd be without it."

"I thought the same thing when I left London. I was so afraid of abandoning the life I had always known. But a leap of faith can sometimes yield surprising results."

"Like being captured by pirates and forced to marry one?" he teased.

He heard the smile in her voice. "Just that the life I thought I wanted can give way to a different one. A better one."

He wanted to believe her. But _better_ was not his experience with life. It had never been. Fuck it _. Until her._ She promised better. She promised different. And _Christ_ he wanted it.

"What do you think you might have done, had you not been taken?"

"I don't know. Never thought about it." He shrugged. "Perhaps I was always destined for the sea."

"Perhaps," she said softly. She was tired. So was he. Holding her close, he adjusted their positions, making sure she was securely insulated from the ships undulations. Minutes later, he heard her even breathing. A feeling of infinite satisfaction settled around him as he realised that he had come to her for comfort and peace. And she had unreservedly given him so much more. Happiness was not a feeling he was used to. But when he closed his eyes, he could almost taste it as he finally surrendered to sleep.

* * *

At some point during the night, the weather must have calmed. Because when Abigail awoke, she was no longer wedged against the wall. Instead, Billy lay on his back and she was sprawled across his chest. Shifting tentatively, she raised her head and encountered clear blue eyes.

"Good morning." She smiled, shy, content, happy. His lips quirked, threatening to smile. Her heart warmed.

"The sun is out," she said, her voice falling to a whisper as his eyes dropped to her mouth. His hands skimmed down the side of her body, caught the hemline of her nightgown and slowly began to raise it.

"I can spare a few minutes yet," he drawled, his voice a low, aroused timbre. His hands cupped her behind and squeezed before he hiked her upwards. Abigail gasped as their faces were now aligned, him beneath her, her hair a dark cocoon around them.

"What will you do with me?" he asked, his lips already seeking hers. Heat - sharp and urgent - lanced through her body. Abigail's arms came around his neck, drawing him into her. His naked body was hard and warm, an arrow of desire shooting to her core when her thighs straddled him. Billy groaned, rolling her onto her back as his mouth created havoc with her senses. The weight of him, she realised, heavy and firm as he settled between her thighs, was the most incredible feeling.

Gasping when his mouth captured her breast, her eyes fluttered closed as she surrendered to the tumultuous sensations. His hands fisted in her hair as his mouth found hers again and again, plundering its depths. Abigail's fingers travelled from his shoulders, down his flanks, reaching down to cup the muscled flesh of his arse. He hissed then, his mouth slanting ravenously over hers, his hands massaging between the heat of her thighs. Excited, anticipation building, she bit into the soft flesh of his earlobe and felt the length of him harden against her thigh.

His eyes captured hers as he aligned their bodies. Abigail felt such overwhelming love for him that the words reverberated in her head, over and over. _I love you, I love you, I love you._

When he surged inside of her, her faculties slipped as mindless pleasure eroded her senses. She lost all grip on time and place, felt only the wicked fullness of his body as he plunged with fluid urgency.

Her pleasure built and Abigail groped for him blindly, her mouth finding his as their tongues stoked across each other.

"You're mine," he breathed, barely audible as her ears began to ring. Seconds later, they both fell over the edge as the essence of his body spilt into hers, leaving them both utterly spent.

* * *

 _Saying goodbye was hard,_ she realised. It did not seem to become easier. Billy was pulling on his damp clothing while Abigail shrugged into her nightgown, aware that she must look a frightful sight. Her hair was a tangled mess, made so by the numerous times his hands had fisted in it. At the door, he combed his hands through her hair before pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. She felt tears burn the back of her eyelids.

He opened the door and tensed. Billy looked back at her, his eyes hard, warning her to stay out of sight. He stood his ground but Abigail saw the sword aimed at his chest before she saw the man wielding it.

"Benjamin, no!"

He walked Billy back into the room, his blade primed at the base of Billy's throat.

"What has he done?"

"Nothing," she said desperately. "He has _done_ nothing."

Max entered the room, her shortness of breath an indication that she had hurried from her point of departure. Her eyes assessed the situation carefully before she came to stand beside the Captain. "Captain Hargrove, I believe there might be some inaccuracy in your assessment of this situation." For some reason, perhaps because of her own apprehension, Max's accent was thicker than usual.

"You expect me to believe that, when he is caught sneaking from her bedroom."

"Perhaps the agreement between Miss Ashe and Mister Manderly is none of our mutual concern," Max offered.

"She is under my protection-"

"Like hell she is!" Billy growled.

"Billy!" Max cautioned, throwing an annoyed look in his direction.

"Watch yourself, Sir. Although I afford you a greater courtesy than is due to you."

"Benjamin!" Abigail called, outraged at the insult.

"Has he touched you?"

Billy surged forward but both Abigail and Max reached for him.

"Don't. Please." Abigail's eyes pleaded and he stalled.

"Any action, no matter how warranted, will be seen as provocation," Max whispered to him in a low hiss. "Get a fucking grip."

"Arrest him," Captain Hargrove ordered to the two officers standing just outside the door.

Billy stood defiant as Abigail felt her own temper spike. This was outrageous.

"On what charge? Truly Benjamin, you would abuse your power thus?"

"I have been charged with your safe return. While in my care, I will not see you brutalised at the hands of a pirate savage."

" _Why_ are you doing this?" Abigail cried, disappointed by his behaviour. This was not the man she had come to know. "He has done nothing that indicates criminal intent."

"You care nothing for your reputation?"

"What reputation?!" she cried. "I am in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean en-route from a pirate den, sailing towards another pirate stronghold. You have placed me upon a pedestal that I do not belong on. Benjamin," she pleaded. "My reputation is truly none of your concern."

His jaw tightened as his shoulders straightened. Abigail could see the war inside of him. Duty and jealousy.

"Oh for fuck's sake Captain, he is her husband! You are the one with no jurisdiction."

The dark look Billy shot Max sent shivers down Abigail's spine. Captain Hargrove was speechless as he looked to Abigail for confirmation.

"We were married on Ocracoke Island. I am his wife."

Hargrove stood silent for a moment, completely without words. He lowered his sword and Abigail breathed a sigh of relief.

"What kind of woman would align herself with a man of his disrepute?"

From the corner of her eye, Abigail saw Billy move – too quickly for her or Max to intercept. She'd barely blinked and Captain Hargrove lay prostrate after Billy's fist had clashed with his jaw.

"Arrest him!" Hargrove called, attempting to scramble to his feet.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Max cried, clearly frustrated. "That has not helped matters."

"I feel better," Billy said, offering no resistance as his hands were cuffed behind his back. "Besides, he's fucking had it coming."


	13. XIII

Silver stood on the deck of the Walrus and surveyed the ensuing frenzy at the port of Nassau from the spyglass against his eye. The beach was awash with tiny figures in red and white – soldiers – as they made preparations for what they all knew was coming. He lowered the implement but continued to stare in the direction of the bay, the movement now nothing more than almost infinitesimal shifts of colour.

With each passing day he contemplated the wisdom of their actions. The world was changing, yielding to governments, rules and unified powers. He begun to fear that despite the way pirates had always lived their lives, they were losing a battle with odds that were inevitably stacked against them.

Silver sighed, unconsciously lowering one hand to rub at the side of his leg. The excruciating pain and infection had long ago subsided. But the dull ache remained, forever reminding him that he was changed, different, unable to recklessly command his limbs as he had once done.

"Why is it that whenever you are left on your own, I find that you inevitably return to brooding?"

He turned, his gaze resting on a tall, dark skinned woman. Madi was a Queen now, leader of her people, a strong, independent, insightful woman. He had never met anyone quite like her. He recognised a little of Eleanor Guthrie, but she had more compassion – at least outwardly – than Eleanor had ever displayed. Also, she seemed less interested in waging a war out of self-interest. She cared for her people and their survival as a community.

Silver shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I do not brood. Flint broods. I'm merely contemplating what the fuck we've gotten ourselves into," he admitted.

Madi nodded, as if she had already anticipated his words. "You think we are making a mistake?"

Silver made a low, frustrated sound, knowing that his honesty would yield an opportunity to gain much needed council from someone with no alternative agendas.

"No. Perhaps. Oh fuck." She waited while he gathered his thoughts. "We entered this war because we felt like we were wronged. Rogers took this island and without too much effort, managed to settle upon it without so much as a tremor of fucking protest. If I were being honest, if I removed my fucking pride at being kicked from my home, I could admit that his plans for Nassau are not that terrible."

She raised a brow and he nodded, committing to his sentiment.

"We hate him because he took her from us. A few years ago, Flint believed in his cause and championed the very policy Rogers now fights to enact. Peace, trade, commercial partners, prosperity for all and sundry."

"Is this not what we fight for? Freedom from British rule so that we may set our own terms for the way we choose to live our lives, govern ourselves?"

"The sentiment is noble. And yet I cannot shake the feeling that we are fighting a war against progress. That we cannot win."

"John," she said and he turned to look at her. She was the only one who ever called him that. He liked the sound coming from her. "You and your Captain convinced me that this course of action is what is best for my people. Are you saying that that is no longer what you believe?"

Silver sighed, long and heavy. She was right. He had been part of the rousing committee, gathering forces and punting the benefits of war with the British. The reality was, they were hopelessly outnumbered and would all very likely end up at the bottom of the ocean or hung in a square in Nassau or London.

"All I know is that when I look at you, I do not want to imagine your head severed from your body, or your corpse displayed in the centre of a town as evidence of the consequences of our way of life."

Her eyes softened and his heart squeezed a little.

"He will not stop now. He has come too far."

Silver nodded. He was Flint. And she was right.

"Even if we're all doomed to death."

"Death is inevitable."

"Quite so," he said. "But not the time, nor the place."

* * *

Billy tried to feel remorse for his actions, but could not. Even now, hours later, cuffed and stuffed into the cargo hold, he still felt satisfaction at the feeling of his fist making contact with Hargrove's face. Fucking asshole. Of course he knew violence against a British naval officer would not bode well for his situation, but he was a pirate. Very few actions would bode well and he was tired of cowering. Soon they would reach Nassau and Abigail would be safe. He would have fulfilled his promise to her harridan of a companion and…. and what? His train of thought hit a blank. They would go their separate ways? What a fucking mess. She'd asked him whether he would leave this war behind. The thought had never crossed his mind. This was his life. This was how he had to live it. And yet, the option to leave it, to start anew had never seemed more appealing. However, in the harsh light of day, the reality was that he had no options, no prospects and despite being her husband, he had nothing to offer her.

Tugging on the manacles at his wrist, Billy cursed while simultaneously welcoming the sharp pain. He was a fool. And losing his head was what had gotten them in this predicament. If he had stayed away, seen her safely to Nassau, he would not be having some sort of fucking existential crisis. The world and his place in it had always been clear. But now the waters were murky. At this juncture, he had no idea how to go back to the Billy he had been before he met her. The Billy who didn't know the softness of her touch, recognise the smell of her skin, welcome the sound of her voice or yearn for the peace he only seemed to find in her arms.

* * *

Abigail walked across the deck, glaring at Benjamin's back every few steps as she struggled with her ire. Beside her, Max walked too, her companion deep in thought.

"He refuses to listen to any reason," Abigail hissed.

"He did find you in a compromising position."  
"With my husband!"

"Perhaps he needs a moment to acclimate to the idea, yes?"

Abigail snorted, aware that it was incredibly unladylike. But she was beyond caring. "Absurd. And I am forbidden from seeing him."

"It cannot be for long. We will reach Nassau within the hour and then the Governor will set things right."

"It feels a lifetime since I was taken from the Island. How can two weeks change a life?"

"These few days did not alter your life. There were multiple factors which deserve the credit. The first time Ned Lowe kidnapped you. The moment you met Captain Flint. When you were returned to Charlestown. Witnessing the death of Miranda Barlow. One could argue those events led you here. They changed your life, opened it up to new possibilities. Now, you simply choose a direction to take."

Abigail trembled, the truth of her words shuddering through her body. "I love him."

Max nodded. "I know."

"What will I do?"

Max never answered because a sailor from high above in the crows nest called to the First Mate.

Their eyes swiveled towards the Captain who was now furiously bellowing orders to his crew.

"What's happening?" Abigail asked Max.

"I am not sure." They began to move towards the quarterdeck where Captain Hargrove commanded the vessel.

"Captain!" Max called as they made their way past soldiers moving in different directions, hurrying about their assigned duties.

"Not now, Madam."

"This will only take a moment," Max asserted, fierce, a force to be reckoned with. Abigail watched her in awe. "An update Captain. What is happening?"

Benjamin's eyes met Abigail's and she stared at him without flinching. Eventually his gaze returned to Max.

"There is a thick cloud of smoke over the bay," he said eventually. Handing Max the spyglass, he pointed in the direction he meant for her to look. Abigail did not need the implement. In the distance, a plume of black smoke rose high into the sky. Her heartbeat began to rise. Max turned to her and voiced her own thoughts.

"The war has begun."

Hargrove nodded stiffly. "We cannot sail into the bay. We risk compromising the vessel."

A sailor stopped by and bowed stiffly. "The rowboat is ready to be lowered from the stern Captain."

"Thank you. We launch soon."

"Launch a rowboat? I don't understand."

"We'll row into the cove. The Persephone will be docked off shore."

More soldiers arrived, interrupting the conversation as they relayed news or made enquiries.

"You will both be on the first rowboat launched with me. Now if you'll excuse me, please prepare."

He begun to walk away when Abigail called, "And the rest of the crew? What of them?"

They both knew whom she referred to. Hargrove tensed, barely pausing midstride. "All members of the crew will be evacuated and a skeleton crew shall remain on board. Prisoners will be transported to the mainland as soon as there is an opportunity to do so."

"I will not leave without him," Abigail said to Max as Hargrove stalked out of sight.

"You have no choice. No. No," she said more gently as Abigail wanted to argue. "Billy is more than capable of taking care of himself. The Captain is right. We must get to the mainland. It will be safer."

"I need to see him then."

Max rolled her eyes but Abigail remained firm. She would not be ushered off this ship without making damned sure that he was all right.

"Come," said Max. "At this point there is nothing more that can be done to us if we are discovered courting the Captain's displeasure."

* * *

Abigail had never been so far into the bowels of a ship. Down ramps and ladders she climbed, minding soldiers as they hurried past. Finally they descended into the cargo hold. Whether by blind luck or God's intervention, Billy was unattended, but chained to the inner hull. He was standing, but could not move more than a pace in any direction.

"What the fuck is going on?" he asked as Max lead Abigail into the narrow passage leading to his confined prison.

"It looks as though Captain Flint could wait no longer for his war," Max said, her glance knowing as Billy nodded solemnly at her. Abigail felt as though they both realised something she had yet to discover.

"You have only a few moments," Max said, moving back down the narrow lane and out of sight to give them some privacy.

"Are you alright?" Abigail asked, trying to ascertain his wellbeing in the dim light of the confined space. All around them large wooden crates were stacked with supplies.

"I'm fine," he said, jiggling the manacles. "You don't happen to have the key to these do you?" He was teasing, the corners of his lips curling upwards slightly. At any other time, she would have delighted in his humour. At the moment however, she felt ill with dread and worry.

Abigail touched the iron cuffs, distressed. "They're lowering a rowboat from the stern. Max, myself, Benjamin and a few of the crew will be the first to make for the coastline."

Billy nodded, his jaw tense. "It's the right thing to do."

"I do not want to leave you here," she whispered, afraid of what might happen if they were separated.

He put a finger to her chin and lifted it so that she met his gaze. Between them the iron of the chains around his wrists clinked as his finger rested in the shallow indent of her chin.

"I've maneuvered myself out of worse. As long as you're safe."

His eyes were intense infernos, blazing a path directly into her soul. In the dimness of the ships interior, Abigail wrapped her hands around his and he raised them to his lips.

"What is Captain Flint thinking? You and I both know he cannot win this war." It was the first time she'd broached her beliefs with him head on. His face remained impassive, but his jawline stiffened.

"Flint wants-"

"What does Captain Flint want Mister Manderly? I'd be much obliged if you would inform the rest of us."

Abigail tensed as Captain Hargrove entered the dim quarters. Behind him Max wore a dark scowl, but did not venture into the space.

"I might have guessed you would make your way below decks, despite my express wishes to the contrary," he said. "But that is not the most pressing concern. We must go."

"What will happen to Billy?" she pressed. She felt her husband's fingers tighten around hers and she squeezed back.

Hargrove's gaze swept across their joined hands, his eyes unreadable in the flickering lamplight.

"He'll be transported to the Governor's holding cell as soon as there is space on another rowboat. Now come."

Abigail turned to him, her heart so full it felt ready to burst. Instantly she felt like she needed more time, that they had so much between them, so many things unsaid.

"Abigail," Benjamin said again but she ignored him. She had eyes only for Billy. If she could, she would spill her deepest secrets to him, her yearnings, her wishes about the future she hoped they could have. But time was not on her side.

"Go now," he said to her, as if they were alone, as if a military man did not stand mere feet from them, privy to their whispered words. "You'll be safe and I'll be right behind you."

Abigail felt the back of her eyelids burn. "Billy, I… you must know… I-"

He reached down and softly placed his lips to hers. Behind them, Captain Hargrove cursed and turned away, a sign of his breeding if nothing else.

"Shhh," he said, stopping her confession.

"But I would have you know-"

"Tell me when you are safe, when I see you again."

Her shattering heart lifted at the promise. "Do take care," she said earnestly. Billy offered her a brisk nod of acquiescence before his eyes rose to the Captain behind them. Waiting for Benjamin to face them once more, he recited with deliberate urgency.

"Listen to the Captain, keep your head down and when you reach Nassau, seek refuge with the Governor," he said briskly. "Do you understand?"

Abigail nodded, a lump in her throat. She cleared it, holding back her tumultuous emotions. This was not goodbye, she reminded herself.

"Captain," Billy said, looking directly at the naval officer. "Keep her safe." The words were both threat and entreaty. Abigail shivered as the two men's eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. Eventually, Benjamin nodded and Billy looked satisfied. With one final squeeze, he let go of her hands and stepped back. Benjamin motioned for her to walk from the hold ahead of him. Looking back at Billy – her tall, blonde, fearless, giant of a husband – she committed him to memory as she hurried from him and ascended towards the light of the upper deck.

* * *

Trying to hold on to his slipping temper, Governor Rogers enunciated his next words clearly and calmly. "I do not ask this as a request."

"You would command me?" Eleanor retorted, outraged. Their disagreement had raged for the past few minutes. Despite being behind the closed doors of his private study, he had no doubt that there were a few lurking outside that would quite clearly be privy to their quarrel.

"I would entreat you to be safe. Both of you." She made to argue and he silenced her with one look – stern, brooking no further opposition. Fighting fire with fire was something he knew she thrived on. And while he had no issue with it ordinarily, now there was no time to continue their discourse without wasting valuable time. Closing the distance between them, he reached for her, knowing that she was listening when she did not step away, despite how stiff she felt in his arms.

"I know you capable. I know that if I let you loose with pistol in hand, you would most likely lay waste to every pirate who stood in your way. I know this. It is not something that I wish to deny. So my request is not because I believe you a weak woman or incapable of protecting yourself or fighting by my side."

He cupped her beautiful, rebellious face in his hands, her eyes sparking with intelligence and ire.

"But there is another life between us. Right here." His one hand spanned across the swell of her midriff, marveling at the ever-growing firm mound. "If anything happened to either of you, it would tear me apart. No victory would be fulfilling if I did not have you beside me to share in our mutual success. I recognised you as my partner since the moment I saw your brave, defiant face across that courtroom in London. We cannot, I cannot, win this war without you."

He saw the conflict within her eyes, the storm of uncertainty swirling within the blue depths. "I would never do anything to risk our child."

"I know. My only wish is that if you were to take any sort of action, it would be out of necessity."

Her eyes narrowed as her head cocked to the side. If she ever knew how endearing he found the gesture, he was sure she would never do it again.

"So you're saying that if pirates happened to come knocking at these doors I have your leave to shoot their fucking heads off?"

His lips curled in a smile. "I would expect nothing less."

"I do not like commands," she said, her eyes still sparking her displeasure, even as her demeanor softened somewhat.

"I do not like making them," he replied softly.

She breathed out, long and hard before resting her head against his shoulder. His heart settled back into its natural rhythm as he gathered her close, her body now soft and yielding against him. In the distance, the sound of canon fire ripped through the peaceful morning.

"I must go," he said and she nodded, placing a hard kiss to his lips before breaking apart.

"Any word from Captain Hargrove?" she asked, now all business. God, but he loved her.

"Nothing yet. I pray he noticed the plumes of smoke before the Persephone was spotted."

"And the beach?"

"She's holding. For now, we're exchanging fire. But it will not be long before we're facing men in hand-to-hand combat."

"There is a chance that men on this island will switch sides. You know this?" she cautioned, her brows furrowed in deep thought. Always the strategist, he thought.

"If they do, we'll be prepared. As much as we can be under the circumstances."

"I'll see to the hospital and prepare for the injured. Max's girls will be willing to assist. It would be the instructions she left before her departure."

"She's going to be alright. She was with Hargrove and Abigail."

"I know. But if they're caught in the crossfire, anything is possible."

"Get Miss Jones to assist. It might be helpful to keep her mind occupied."

Eleanor rolled her eyes and he smiled. "We are more likely to tear each other limb from fucking limb."

"I trust you shall both have greater forbearance, especially since that is exactly what our enemies hope to do to us," he teased.

Behind them, there was a brisk knock at the door. "Governor, its time," one of the men announced.

Eleanor looked to him, her eyes worried, despite her impassive face. He met her gaze and tried to convey his feelings. Her nod told him that she understood. Turning on his heel, he strode from the room and into the bowels of war.

* * *

With an escort of Captain Hargrove and seven of his men, Abigail and Max reached the beach. They had not entered via the bay and with Max's additional knowledge of the island, they beached without engaging any enemy forces. The walk towards the town was hot and long. They moved cautiously, sticking to covered ground and waiting sometimes while the soldiers scouted ahead. Twice they were engaged in minor skirmishes. Both times, the pirates were ill prepared and more than a little drunk. They were tied up and their positions marked so that they could be collected by patrols later.

Both women's shoes were painfully inappropriate, but neither Max nor Abigail complained at all. They were as focused as the soldiers, determined to reach their destination alive and as soon as possible.

"The Governors house is a few miles down the road," Hargrove said eventually. His face was red, sweat running from his temples. "Officer Canter and I will escort you."

"No," said Max. "Take us to the infirmary." At Abigail's querying look, she clarified. "Both Eleanor and Miss Jones are more likely to be there than at the mansion."

Milly. Abigail nodded her approval and the Captain signaled to his men to continue their trek. Spurred on by the idea that so little separated her from her beast friend, Abigail pushed the blisters on her feet far from her mind and walked on with renewed vigor and determination.

But with every step towards Nassau town, the reality of war became more apparent. The loud boom of canon fire reverberated, shaking the ground beneath their feet. The air smelled of smoke and something else, something Abigail recognised as what she had once smelled in the air of Charlestown. It smelled of death. Around them women and children hurried, taking shelter. Stores, taverns and shopfronts were closed or abandoned. The presence of the military was now abundant and soon salutes and well wishes were shouted to the Captain and his men. Abigail and Max shared a look as they rushed ahead now, eager to see their friends.

But the commotion had alerted the occupants of the infirmary that the town was welcoming visitors. Abigail felt her chin tremble as she saw Milly rush outside, her eyes darting up and down the street. Abigail tried to call out to her, but she was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Rushing forward, their eyes eventually met and Milly released a cry. Within moments, they embraced and Abigail would only realise later that her face was wet with tears.

"My dear girl, oh my dear girl! Are you alright?" Milly kept repeating the same sentence, giving Abigail no chance to make an actual reply. Beside them, Max embraced Eleanor, the friends just as relieved to see each other again.

"Abigail," Eleanor said, "I am quite happy to see you returned."

"Thank you. As I am to be returned."

"Come, come inside," Milly said. "Oh my dear, let's get you cleaned up. Both of you."

"Thank you Miss Jones. But I must see to my business," Max said. To Abigail, she offered, "I will send you some clean clothes to see you settled. Welcome home."

Abigail felt her tears rise again. "Thank you Max."

Max nodded before leaving with Eleanor by her side, no doubt already receiving the pertinent news updates.

Milly ushered Abigail upstairs where it was not quiet, but somehow less frantic. Still the sounds of canon-fire roared around them, but somehow she felt less exposed, safer. The minute they entered an empty room, all the aches and pains returned and Abigail sunk gratefully onto a nearby chair. Her borrowed gown was ruined, the dress soiled until past her knees. There were cuts in the skirts, splatters of dirt and mud caked across the surface.

"Oh Abigail," Milly said as she sat beside her, embracing her. Abigail held on tight, so incredibly relieved to see her friend again.

"How have you been?" Abigail asked. "Your health?"

"Oh never mind that," Milly said. But at Abigail's stern look, she acquiesced. "I am well. Right as rain. Fully recovered. Strong as a horse. Are you satisfied?"

Abigail smiled at her sarcasm. How she had missed her. "Quite. I am glad to hear it."

"How are you my dear? Was it awful? I have heard some news from the Governor. I was so incredibly worried."

"I am well. Truly. Truly Milly. I have not been harmed."

There was a knock and Liz entered. "Excuse the intrusion, but Max asked me to bring these for you. And well, I was happy to as I wanted to see that you were all safe for myself."

Abigail smiled into the soft green eyes of the beautiful young woman. "Thank you Liz. You've met Millicent? She is my oldest friend."

Liz dropped into a strange half bow, half curtsey that might have been mocking if the girl did not look so eager to please.

Abigail would have stood to receive her, but her feel were now throbbing and she really needed to take off her shoes.

"I'll leave you to get cleaned up." More girls entered with a basin and two large pitchers of water. "These should help until you can get cleaned up proper."

"Thank you Liz. I do appreciate it."

Liz smiled at Abigail then nodded stiffly at Milly before she left. Abigail reached for her shoes and slowly removed them from her feet. It felt like heaven just to be without them.

"I have blisters," she warned Milly. "These shoes were not the best choice for walking I'm afraid."

"Undress and sponge yourself. I'll get liniment from the doctor and some bandages."

Milly paused at the doorway, looking back at Abigail. "I am so happy to see you." She disappeared before Abigail could respond.

Wasting no time, she shrugged out of the filthy clothes and filled the basin with water. Using the cloth and the bar of soap Liz had placed atop the clothing, she wiped and rinsed and wiped again, cleaning herself as best she could. Her hair was a mess, but that would have to wait. By the time Milly arrived, Abigail had managed to wipe down her entire body and felt almost human.

"Let me help you wash your hair."

Without a word, Milly placed the dirty basin outside the door and returned with an empty one. Working in silence, they rinsed her hair, washed it with the coarse soap – not ideal but better than dealing with dirty hair – and carefully rinsed it twice. Abigail sighed in absolute bliss as she sat on the chair and gingerly placed her feel on Milly's lap as she sat opposite her.

"You have at least three blisters on this foot," Milly said, clucking her disapproval. The skin was read, rubbed raw in some places and throbbed all over. Abigail flinched as Milly cleaned the skin again, before rubbing a soothing balm across the surface. Abigail fairly purred.

"You should get some rest," Milly said.

Abigail shook her head. "I'm not tired. There is so much to do here. I want to help."

Abigail watched her friend as she applied some balm to her other foot. It was clear there was something troubling her.

"What is it Milly?"

Milly shifted uncomfortably. "Eleanor – she informed me that you were married on the island." Her voice had risen a little, until the statement turned into a question.

"We do not have to talk about this now," Abigail said.

"I think we aught to. It is true then? You married that pirate?"

Abigail rolled her eyes, exasperated, worried, relieved, all at the same time. "His name is William, as you are well aware."

"He is also a pirate," she hissed. "That I am very aware of as well."

Abigail could not argue the point. She was correct in her assertion. "Yes, he is a pirate."

Perhaps Milly had not expected her to agree. But she looked at Abigail, quite confounded. "This is quite a serious matter Abigail, and yet I sense you treat it as if it were a jest."

"Milly, please. I do not wish to fight. Not this moment. We have just been reunited. Can we not revisit this when we are both less stressed about present circumstance?"

"There is no amount of time that will make me less stressed about this news. My dear girl, we must have this marriage annulled as soon as possible!"

Abigail raised a brow and forced herself to remain calm. "We are currently at war Milly, I think there are other priorities afoot."

"This is your future. I think it is of great importance."

"Milly-"

"Now, I spoke to the Governor-"

"Milly-"

"And he has assured me that an annulment is quite a simple matter."

"Milly, would you listen-"

"There is a priest who I have already been in contact with. He has agreed to perform the duty-"

"I will not have my marriage annulled!" Abigail cried.

The room went silent and Abigail watched Milly's mouth gape as a fish would for air. "But of course you are. Why would you-"

"The marriage cannot be annulled Milly," Abigail said slowly.

"Of course it can." But the truth was dawning upon her and her cheeks went red.

"It cannot be annulled," Abigail said with finality. "We are husband and wife."

"The scoundrel!" Milly whispered.

"Perhaps, in some regards," Abigail teased to create some measure of levity. "But not in this. I went to him willingly."

Milly bound Abigail's feet in silence and then stood, pacing for a moment as Abigail reached for the soft slippers Max had sent for her. The gown was slightly too big, but at least the neckline of the simple burgundy gown was nowhere near as low as the one she had been married in.

"What is it you are hoping for?" Milly said eventually, quite distressed. "That you would make some kind of happy home together? That you would remain as man and wife? He is hopelessly unsuitable," she said on an outraged whisper.

Abigail meant it when she said she did not wish to fight. But she would not have Billy's character – at least so far as to the intention of their marriage – maligned.

"He wed me, upon Captain Rackham's suggestion, to save me from a marriage to a depraved, sadistic man. In so far as that, Billy is blameless in how our union was orchestrated. You know that there were feelings that I have been battling with for a while now. I wanted our marriage to be a real one. And I do not regret the time we spent together." Milly shook her head and Abigail pushed on. "He is a good man."

"He is a pirate!"

"That does not negate that he is good. He has treated me with nothing but kindness and respect. He has been gentle and caring."

"Does he wish to settle here, build a life?"

Abigail bit her lip. "I… we have made no plans."

"I see."

"You see nothing. You have judged him, you are judging me."

Milly's eyes filled with tears and Abigail's heart broke. Oh Milly. Please understand, she begged silently.

"Where is Mister Manderly? I did not see him returned with the men."

"Captain Hargrove had him arrested."

"Dear God. Arrested!"

Abigail reigned in her temper and did not bother with the details. "He should be making his way to the island."

"You have made such a grave mistake."

"He cares about me. That much I am sure of. Can you not try to be open minded?"

"We are now in the throws of a war! There is no opportunity to be open minded. Which side does he fight for?"

"Ours!"

"Does he?" Milly dabbed at her moist eyes with the lace on the sleeve of her gown before she reached for the doorknob. "I do hope so Abigail. For your sake."

* * *

At least four hours later, two soldiers entered the hold and gestured for Billy to stand. His entire body was tense, eager to ascertain exactly what the fuck was happening outside.

"Captain's orders are to escort you to the mainland. You shall remain shackled and will be assisted to the rowboat. Any attempt to escape, we have the mandate to shoot you where you stand. Are we clear?"

Billy nodded, already sizing up the two officers. They were young, probably fairly new recruits facing their first bout of actual combat. He could knock them both out easily. But not until he had a better idea of what the hell he was facing. Dutifully following the two men to the upper deck, he emerged into the sunlight and squinted, blinded momentarily by the harshness of the sun. Allowing a moment for his eyes to adjust, he looked around, noting the skeleton crew aboard the ship. There were barely any soldiers left.

"The boat will be lowered from the stern," one of the soldiers offered, using his gun to push Billy in the right direction. In the distance, large, black tufts of smoke hung low across Nassau. There was a war all right, and it was in full fucking swing. Christ. Knowing it would be impossible to see anything, he looked anyway, trying to make out the shapes rowing towards the island. Although he could see boats dotted across the surface, by now, Hargrove's boat would have made land, or would be very close.

"Come on Pirate. We've not got time to waste." Billy clamped down on his annoyance as he agilely stepped onto the railing and into the boat. He was surprised to see only two other soldiers already seated. Climbing in, he sat dutifully in the centre as instructed, as his two escorts climbed in and settled behind him. The five occupants were then lowered to the surface of the ocean. The moment they were clear of the ship, Billy looked back. They had been the last ship to launch.

"If you require assistance rowing, I volunteer," he said.

"Shut up pirate. Not a word from you."

"I only meant to offer my assistance."

"If we're going to make the coast before midday, we need another pair of hands."

Billy remained impassive as the soldiers bantered about, ensuring his disinterest was evident. Eventually, they acquiesced, knowing that with every sweep of their oars, the temperature increased and the harder the labour became. Uncuffing him with a stern warning that he was being watched, two oars were placed in his hands and he was ordered to row. The error was a grave one. Sizing up the occupants of the boat, he took a deep breath and waited a few minutes, rowing with purpose. The four soldiers never saw his actions coming. Within moments, two were unarmed and dazed while the latter two were overboard, swimming for the ship. Slapping the stunned occupants to consciousness, Billy gave them two choices. Stay or go? Amused despite the circumstances, he watched them both scramble overboard and attempt the swim back to the ship.

Surveying the area, he took a moment to gain his bearings. Unfortunately, Nassau was not where he was headed. He had a war to fight and in order to do so, he needed to get back to Flint.

Lifting the oars, Billy began the arduous journey towards the Walrus in the bay of Nassau.


End file.
